


21 Again

by project_ecto



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: All of Seijoh appears one way or another, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Teacher!iwaizumi, University Student!Oikawa, Usual side pairings make an appearance too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-01-05 09:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 72,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12186981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_ecto/pseuds/project_ecto
Summary: Oikawa, setter of the national volleyball team, and Iwaizumi, a university teacher, are going through a divorce that the latter initiated. An unwise Oikawa thinks the only way to save their marriage is to stall the divorce, until he meets a mysterious stranger who transforms him into his 21-year-old self. So he becomes what most 21-year-olds are: a university student. One that enrolls specifically in Iwaizumi’s school.Oikawa then embarks on a mission to find out where it all went wrong but as he interacts with 31-year-old Iwaizumi in his 21-year-old self, Oikawa discovers a few things that changes his course. Loosely based on 17 Again.





	1. 21 Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first time writing for Haikyuu!! I previously wrote for Kuroko’s Basketball. I absolutely adore IwaOi and have always wanted to write about them. This idea popped up after rewatching 17 Again (you know, the one with Zac Efron?) and I simply had to write this AU. In case you didn’t catch it in the summary, Oikawa and Iwaizumi are 31 years old here. I hope you all will enjoy this!

**10 Years Ago**

Stretching his arm across his chest, Oikawa scans the crowd for a certain someone, knowing that he wouldn’t find who he’s looking for. After all, Iwaizumi did tell him he was sitting for an important job interview today. It was an interview that could kickstart his career favourably and Iwaizumi had been preparing for it for weeks.

Oikawa goes up to the net when it’s his turn to set. His teammates come running up to practise their spikes for the game that’s starting in 10 minutes and Oikawa goes through with the motion, eyes trained and arms in position even though his mind is not so much in the game.

Iwaizumi’s going to be a teacher. He’ll be teaching sports science and management after he finishes his degree in Nippon Sports Science University. He’s going to start teaching in high schools and then work his way up to eventually teach in a university. Because of his career intentions, he has already started looking for employment even though he’s still a junior. Oikawa loves that about him. Ambitious, forward-looking and dependable Iwa-chan.

He notices one of their reserves miss his timing and adjusts his own to set the volleyball precisely in the other boy’s palms. They meet perfectly and the ball slams loudly on the court as he flashes Oikawa a surprised beam. Oikawa smirks perfunctorily and continues to set to Kuroo Tetsurou, their middle blocker, this time.

So while he’s happy for Iwaizumi and so, so proud of him, Oikawa can’t help but feel the gloom stirring inside him because of Iwaizumi’s absence. He really wanted Iwaizumi to be here, because this was his first official match after being put on the starting line-up and Iwaizumi’s presence always made him feel steadier, even if he was not on the court with him.

After graduating from high school, Oikawa had been scouted to join the national volleyball team for Japan and is also currently studying in Tokyo. He and Iwaizumi had been sharing an apartment ever since and Oikawa honestly thinks he hit the jackpot to be able to wake up next to Iwaizumi every morning. So he tries hard not to think about the fact that if Iwaizumi lands the job, he would have to move to Osaka while he stays in Tokyo to pursue his professional volleyball career. It would be the first time they’d be apart ever since they knew each other when they were kids.

But now isn’t the time to mull over such matters. Oikawa shoves the blues away, resolving to do his best and prove that putting him on the starting line-up is the best damn decision the national team ever made.

The whistle blows and Oikawa jogs to the other side of the court. As he faces his palms towards the ceiling, ball light against his skin, a lone figure striding into the gym amidst a crowd full of spectators catches his eye.

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi already has his eyes on Oikawa and when their eyes lock, he waves him over. Oikawa doesn’t bother to suppress the joy bubbling in his chest. Even now, Iwaizumi still manages to make his heart race. He quickly looks around for the team’s other setter.

“Takahashi! Cover for me!” he whispers loudly once he finds him. “I need to go to the washroom.”

“What, now?” Takahashi asks incredulously even as he receives the ball from Oikawa.

“Yes now! Cover for me.”

“Okay okay. Hurry up.”

“Thank you!” Oikawa says and rushes off in the direction of the locker rooms where he saw Iwaizumi head to.

Oikawa sprints through the corridors in search for Iwaizumi, a hundred thoughts running through his mind but clouded by the mix of elation and worry.

“I’m over here,” Iwaizumi’s rough voice calls out as Oikawa misses a corner.

“Iwa-chan!!” he exclaims and engulfs his boyfriend in a giant hug, hitting his back against the wall.

“Ow…” Iwaizumi murmurs but otherwise circles his arms around Oikawa’s red uniform.

Before he’s able to get any words out of his mouth, Oikawa rattles off like a bullet train. “Iwa-chan, what are you doing here?! What about the interview?! Did you finish it? How did it go?”

Iwaizumi looks up at Oikawa with an endearing expression and breathes before answering, “I’m not considering the job.”

It takes Oikawa a moment to process that information. Iwaizumi might as well have said that he ate ramen for lunch.

“What?! Why?!”

The exclamation doesn’t faze Iwaizumi at all, he had anticipated such a reaction from Oikawa. So he calmly explains, “I decided I’m going to stay in Tokyo with you.”

Oikawa sputters before he’s able to form legible words. “But it’s such a good opportunity! The school’s renowned, the pay’s not bad and they even have an affiliated university you can apply to in the future.”

As Oikawa lists all the reasons Iwaizumi should have gone for the interview, the reason Iwaizumi gave for staying becomes more incomprehensible to him.

“So why?” Oikawa finishes, head cocked to one side.

As opposed to Oikawa’s mess of emotions, Iwaizumi’s are certain and unwavering.

“So many questions,” Iwaizumi starts and holds Oikawa’s wrist. “Just because I love you okay? If I do get the job, I’d be so far away.”

“Just like that?” Oikawa breathes, incredulity evident in his voice. “You’d give it up for me?”

“For us,” he corrects. “I…want a future where you’re right next to me.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything. He wants to tell Iwaizumi a hundred things, like how he’s elated to know that Iwaizumi would stay, how fortunate he is to have him, how he doesn’t deserve the sacrifices he makes but will still selfishly accept them regardless.

But how do you say all that when your heart’s pounding like a jackhammer, when your mind’s jumbled up and you feel as if you’re invincible as long as the person before you is with you? Then Oikawa realizes that there are indeed a few words that can encapsulate these emotions.

When he finds his voice, Oikawa says breathlessly, “God Iwa-chan, I love you so damn much.”

Iwaizumi smiles that rare smile and says, “I love you too.”

He dips his fingers to lace them with Oikawa’s and holds them gently. Oikawa feels that he could hand Iwaizumi his whole world and be sure that he’d be safe. Maybe he already has.

Iwaizumi catches Oikawa’s gaze and tells him, “You’ve got me, you know that right?”

“I know,” he replies firmly. “You’ve got me too.”

“Now go back on the court and show ‘em.”

When Oikawa returns to the court with newfound confidence, even his coach is amazed. Before the game starts, Oikawa turns to the stands where Iwaizumi is seated behind his group of fans who are screaming and cheering away. With a cheeky grin, he presses a kiss to the tips of his fingers, throws it in the air like he’s serving and pretends to spike it into the stands, right where Iwaizumi sits.

It sends his fans into hysteria, who obliviously thought it was fanservice meant for them. But Iwaizumi knew better. He rolls his eyes and smirks, but catches it in his palm anyway.

* * *

**Today**

“You’re late.”

Oikawa meets Iwaizumi’s glare with his own haughty expression as he closes the door behind him with a little more force than necessary. He shrugs off his coat and dumps it carelessly over the back of the swivel chair, plopping himself on the cushion and folding his arms.

“You know I don’t even want to be here right?” Oikawa retorts.

Iwaizumi purses his lips and takes a deep breath to calm himself. The guy arrives to the lawyers’ office half an hour late, which Iwaizumi knows he did on purpose, and still has the gall to act childishly in front of them. Collecting himself, Iwaizumi decides now is not the time for a confrontation. He’s dealt with that far too often.

Fortunately, the main lawyer handling their divorce proceedings, Akaashi Keiji, breaks the uncomfortable silence.

“Shall we get started then?” Akaashi asks and sifts through a few papers on the glass desk. “The purpose of this meeting is to confirm what was discussed and decided upon previously. We’ll go through the terms and if both parties are agreeable, you can sign on the document and then it is official.”

“Just like that?” Oikawa asks, unfolding his arms and sitting up.

“Yes,” Akaashi affirms. “It’s a simple and fuss-free procedure.”

Oikawa scoffs and leans back in his chair. “And you’d think it’d be more troublesome considering what we had to go through to get married. It’s like some people just forget what it took to get this far.”

He deliberately slants his eyes at Iwaizumi, who glowers back but tears his gaze away.

Akaashi’s eyes shift from Iwaizumi to Oikawa, the tenseness in the room almost palpable. He glances at his fellow colleagues before clearing his throat.

“It would do all parties well if it was a swift process,” Akaashi replies professionally.

“And if I don’t agree?” Oikawa interjects.

“I’m sorry?”

“If I don’t agree with the terms?”

“We don’t see a reason for you to disagree with them. We’ve been through the terms previously and these were what were decided upon.”

“Maybe I changed my mind?” Oikawa says flippantly.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi warns.

The setter shoots Iwaizumi a challenging glance and instructs Akaashi, “Go ahead then.”

“We’ll go over the terms for the joint assets first,” Akaashi begins. “Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san, you have one joint asset, which is your property. Since the law does not allow for joint ownership for unmarried individuals, either one of you could transfer your ownership to the other, or you can sell the house. Previously, both of you decided to adopt the second option: to sell the house. Do both—”

“Objection,” Oikawa interrupts.

“Oikawa-san, this is not a court proceeding—”

“I don’t want to sell the house,” Oikawa cuts in with childish impudence.

“Tooru, what are you talking about?” Iwaizumi asks in frustration. “We’ve already decided—”

“Well I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to sell the house,” Oikawa repeats firmly.

“May we inquire the reason?” Akaashi asks.

“Because I just don’t want to!” Oikawa exclaims, feelings of frustration and fear threatening to break the dam in his chest. “It’s _our_ house! We bought it with our hard-earned money. We re-modelled it together. We spent so much of our time in it together. And now you just want to sell it like it meant nothing? I don’t agree and I _won’t_ sign this paper.”

“Oikawa-san, if you—”

“Fine,” it was Iwaizumi’s voice that interrupts this time. “You can have the house.”

The weariness in his voice is evident, like he has spent all his energy dealing with this and all he wants is to get it over with. Oikawa is left dumbfounded, because he never expected Iwaizumi to concede with his selfish request so easily. He was just trying to stall the whole thing. What else could he do, when Iwaizumi seemed so adamant about severing ties with him? What else could he do to make him stay?

“…What?” Oikawa breathes out.

“You don’t want to sell the house right?” Iwaizumi asks quietly. “Then don’t. You can keep it. I’ll transfer my ownership to you. What else do you want? Name your terms and I’ll agree to them.”

“Iwa-chan…”

“Just don’t—don’t make this anymore difficult than it already is.”

A piercing silence fills the room as one waits for this to end and the other wishes it will not. It is after a few moments that Akaashi speaks.

“Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san, perhaps it is a good idea to postpone this meeting,” he suggests. “In the meantime, we can amend the terms to reflect the changes in the ownership of the property and go over the terms again when things are more…settled.”

Iwaizumi responds after a while and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Alright.”

“Then I will arrange another meeting,” he says and packs his materials.

“Could you give us a moment?” Iwaizumi requests.

“Of course,” he says and hastens his packing slightly.

When the lawyers have left Iwaizumi and Oikawa are alone in the room, Iwaizumi sighs.

“Why are you being like this?”

The question, uttered tiredly and chidingly, rubs Oikawa the wrong way. Why was he the one getting blamed and scolded when all he wants is to not get divorced? It all seems so unfair.

“Like what?” he starts defensively. “Like I’m the only one trying to save our marriage?”

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue in frustration. “What you did is not saving our marriage at all!”

“And you are?!” Oikawa snaps, brown eyes swimming with anger. “You’re the one who called for this divorce in the first place! I don’t want _this_! Did you finally get sick and tired of me and decided to end things?!”

Oikawa’s accusation cuts Iwaizumi like a knife. His voice is strained when he answers, “That’s not how it is at all. You know that.”

“No. I don’t,” Oikawa bites back. “Because you’re acting as if the last 20 years meant nothing to you at all.”

He can see the hurt in Iwaizumi’s eyes, but he can’t seem to stop himself. It did not seem fair that Iwaizumi could end their relationship like that, when it would absolutely destroy him once it did.

“I thought we had each other,” he grits out.

The pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is unmistakable and Oikawa feels the waves of guilt for putting it there.

“You just don’t get it do you?” Iwaizumi asks softly. Oikawa doesn’t think he’s seen him look so vulnerable before.

Iwaizumi grabs his belongings and heads for the door. There is nothing more to say. Perhaps they’ve been together for too long to continue staying with each other. It’s as if their red strings of fate have tangled into knots that will only go away if the string is cut.

Iwaizumi stands at the door, his hand gripping the cold metal of the handle. He doesn’t turn around, because if he does, he knows he cannot bring himself to leave once he sees the look on Oikawa’s face.

Oikawa’s voice is broken when he chokes, “Hajime—”

“Goodbye Oikawa.”

* * *

“See you next practice!”

“Whaaat? You’re not joining us for drinks? It’s cheat day!”

“Nah, I got a date!”

“Ah…must be nice having a girlfriend.”

“Shut up, you have a girlfriend too!”

Laughter fills the locker room of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gym but Oikawa feels disconnected, like he’s hearing voices underwater. He might as well be. His body feels so heavy, like there’s something pulling him down. His sluggish condition doesn’t go unnoticed by his coach and teammates, who call him out on his lacklustre performance at practice today. He manages to get away with the lie that he’s feeling under the weather, only because he honestly looks like shit.

To have to lie to his coach and team makes it even worse, but it’s not like he could tell anyone the true reason behind his dejection. Nobody on the team knew he was married to Iwaizumi. Nobody except Kuroo, who found out about their relationship by accident. Even though they’ve been married for 3 years, Oikawa wanted to keep it hushed because of his reputation in the field. Looks like he didn’t have to do that anymore. It brought him zero comfort.

As he wipes himself down with a towel absentmindedly and pulls a clean t-shirt over his head, Oikawa realizes he’s the only one left in the locker room. With a heavy sigh, he closes his locker door but stops short when a faded photograph catches his attention.

It hangs juxtaposed among the other colourful pictures, a testament of how old it was compared to the rest. With desaturated colours and a folded corner, the picture depicts Oikawa and Iwaizumi when they were 7 or 8, he really can’t remember, but they were smiling toothy grins with Oikawa throwing up a peace sign. That was when they first started playing volleyball together, Oikawa becoming enamoured when he saw it on TV and Iwaizumi following in his best friend’s footsteps, not knowing he’d be the best kind of ace.

Normally, looking at the picture brings him nostalgia. But looking at it now just depresses him. He’d known Iwaizumi since he was little. They’d become friends, lovers and husbands. They’ve gone through so much together and they’ve gotten so far. And now, just like that, they were going to separate? Oikawa couldn’t—wouldn’t believe it.

Oikawa refuses to believe that Iwaizumi was lying when he told him he had him.

Rubbing his tired face with his hand, the setter backs up until his calves hit the bench, landing on the wood with a loud thud.

“Why the long face?”

“What the fuck!”

Oikawa practically jumps in his seat, his heart skipping a beat or two at the sudden fright he got from this stranger who seemingly appeared out of thin air. He puts his palm on his chest, feeling the thuds and willing himself to calm down. Half-pissed and half-embarrassed, Oikawa eyes the stranger standing at his opened locker door warily.

“Who the hell are you?” he questions rather rudely, but he was not in the mood for pleasantries.

“You can’t tell?” he says blandly, gesturing towards his uniform and the yellow wringer trolley beside him.

“You look a little young to be a janitor,” Oikawa retorts, noting that this dark-haired stranger with half-part hair and a lack of expression was rather sassy for a janitor.

“I’m a part-timer,” he, Kunimi—as Oikawa finds out after peering at his name tag, explains. “So why the long face?”

Oikawa frowns and murmurs, “That’s pretty ironic coming from you…”

He props one leg up on the bench and starts untying his shoelaces. For some reason, Oikawa feels no inhibitions sharing his woes with this stranger. He couldn’t confide in his teammates, might as well do so with a complete stranger. After all, he’s just a janitor isn’t he?

“Just having a bad day,” he says as he puts on his sneakers. “More like a bad week. Or even month. Or—whenever the hell this all happened! I don’t even know anymore!”

By the time he was done, he had thoroughly abused his shoelaces.

“I mean, what happened? We were happily married and then…and then we’re not,” Oikawa rants to the janitor, who’s actually listening intently. “He asked _me_ to marry him. And I did! And now we’re getting a divorce! A divorce! We even met the lawyers and everything!”

Oikawa groans as he remembers what transpired in the lawyer’s office that morning.

“I don’t want a divorce so I did the only thing I could, which is to delay the whole process right? While we work it out? So I said a few things to the lawyers and Iwa-chan got mad and I made it all worse by saying things I know I’ll regret.”

He looks at Kunimi, whose blank expression doesn’t deter him because he’s too far gone to stop now. “He said I didn’t get it…but I’m not sure what he meant.”

Oikawa stares at his feet with crestfallen eyes. He wished for so much. He wanted to fix things, he wanted Iwaizumi to burn those divorce papers, he wanted their marriage to be happy, and he wanted to know where it all went wrong. But wishes were just that, right?

“Sounds like you need a chance to start over,” Kunimi the janitor speaks.

Oikawa laughs bitterly. “I wish. I wish I could just go back and start over.”

“You really wish for something like that?” Kunimi probes.

Oikawa looks up, gazes at the photograph of better times and whispers, “Yeah…”

“Who the heck you talking to?” Kuroo’s smooth voice calls from the entrance.

“Huh?” Oikawa turns to face Kuroo, a little disoriented by his interrupted train of thought. “Oh, the janitor.”

“What janitor?”

He looks around, eyebrows knitted in confusion, in search for the janitor who has disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving only his yellow wringer trolley at the foot of Oikawa’s locker.

“He was—he was just here…”

“Right,” Kuroo says with a slow nod. “Let’s go. Some of us are getting a few drinks.”

Oikawa purses his lips. “You guys go ahead, I’m gonna head home.”

“You sure? You look like you could use a few,” Kuroo offers, aware that Oikawa was going through a rough patch with Iwaizumi but not knowing the details.

“Yeah, I just need to sleep it off.”

“Okay then, see you next practice.”

“See you.”

Packing up his belongings quickly, Oikawa leaves the locker room with a frown, the odd exchange he had with the peculiar janitor swimming in the back of his mind.

* * *

“Ugh…”

Oikawa’s voice, laden with sleep, echoes through the empty room of their two-storey house. He buries his face into the fluffy pillow, taking a deep breath before pushing himself off the mattress. Yawning, he checks the time with half-opened eyes and realizes, with a little surprise, that it was already two in the afternoon.

Sure he was more exhausted than usual last night, but he hadn’t expected to sleep into the afternoon. He maintained a rather strict routine after all. No matter, there isn’t any practice today anyway. Perhaps he deserves a break after what he’s been through.

Beginning his morning routine (in the afternoon ironically), Oikawa pads towards the bathroom and washes his face with cold water. He yanks his face towel off the towel ring and dries himself before looking up into the mirror. It’s a strange reflection he meets with.

“What the—”

He surges forward to inspect his reflection more closely, but as his senses awaken and the person in the mirror becomes clearer to him, Oikawa is more befuddled by the second.

Because who he sees in the mirror looks like someone who just graduated from high school. And that cannot be possible, right? I mean, he knows his skin care routine is to die for, but—

“Really?!” Oikawa exclaims as he shoves his face into the mirror, grabbing at his cheeks and pulling at his forehead.

“What the hell, what the hell, what the hell!”

Oikawa is breathing hard, trying to wrap his mind around what seems to be happening. It’s way too early for this. Maybe he’s still dreaming.

In one last attempt to prove that he isn’t going crazy, Oikawa lifts his arm and pinches it hard.

“Ow!”

He sucks in a breath and warily meets the eyes of his reflection. Same brown ones he has. There’s no mistaking it then. He’s…young again.

Oikawa shrieks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this verse, same-sex marriage is still not legalized in most parts of Japan and there is still a stigma associated with same-sex couples, which is why Oikawa said “considering what we had to go through to get married”. However, some cities/city wards do issue partnership certificates, which provide some benefits of marriage (this part is true in reality), which in this story refers to having joint ownership of property (this part is made-up). So in a way, the term “marriage” is used loosely because strictly speaking, they are only partners. Additionally, some law firms still offer services for same-sex couples and Akaashi works for one such firm (I’m not sure if Japan actually does have these firms, I’m also making this part up). I also researched a bit on divorce in Japan and this story goes a little differently than reality. So let’s imagine divorce proceedings are different too.
> 
> Also, Akaashi is contemplating on a career change. All this divorce shit is depressing him.
> 
> Lastly, has anyone watched the Seijoh movie?!?!? I know it's out in Japan and I'm dying to watch it, I don't even care if it's not subbed. I neeeed it. Anyway, kudos and comments are appreciated!


	2. Spirit Guide, O Spirit Guide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments in the first chapter! I hope you guys are excited for what happens next.

"Iwa-chan!!” he shouts at the top of his lungs as he scrambles out of the room and flies down the stairs. “Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan!!”

As he reaches the foot of the stairs with no Iwa-chan in sight, Oikawa suddenly remembers: Iwaizumi moved out a couple days after that incident. His shoulders tense as anxiety creeps under his skin. His heart is still racing in his chest and the panic becomes more apparent as Oikawa realizes he’s alone to deal with this chaos. This time, there’s no Iwaizumi to calm him down or assure him it’s going to be alright.

Oikawa’s pants are audible and his breath hitches when the doorbell rings. For a moment, he thought it was Iwaizumi.

Until a smooth voice comes from behind the door.

“Oi! Oikawa, it’s Kuroo.”

“Kuroo!” Oikawa calls back, caught off guard by his unexpected visit. “Just—hold on!”

“You sound a little weird,” Kuroo says, voice muffled through the door. “And I heard some shouting just now. Everything alright?”

“Yeah!” Oikawa shouts, desperate to conjure some explanation for this phenomenon. He needed more time to think and figure this all out. “Just wait!”

“I’m coming in,” Kuroo says regardless and Oikawa can hear him retrieving the spare keys he hid in a shoebox. Damn it, why did he tell him where it’s hidden?

“No no no,” Oikawa mutters as he scurries around the messy living room for anything that could remotely be of use, although what that could be, Oikawa had no idea.

But the door was already opening and all Oikawa could do was freeze as Kuroo catches him helplessly holding a cushion in his ratty old alien t-shirt and grey shorts. He stares at him with a weirded-out expression and for a few seconds, there is only silence.

“Uhh…does Oikawa have a younger brother we don’t know about?”

Kuroo’s surprisingly mild reaction and composure somehow assuaged Oikawa. He appreciated the morsel of calmness among all this confusion. If Iwaizumi isn’t here, perhaps Kuroo’s level-headedness can provide some relief.

“Kuroo, it’s me! Tooru!”

“You may look like Oikawa,” Kuroo says suspiciously, finding this more unbelievable by the second. “But you are not him. I’m calling the cops.”

“Don’t!” Oikawa panics as Kuroo takes out his phone and presses 1. He has to convince him he’s Tooru, and he has to convince him fast. “It’s really me! Your teammate! You’re Kuroo Tetsurou, middle blocker for the national volleyball team!”

“That’s public information,” Kuroo counters and pushes his thumb on 1 again.

“Wait!” Oikawa exclaims, wracking his brain for more private information to prove he’s indeed Oikawa Tooru. “You’re in a relationship with Kozume Kenma!”

A pause, before Kuroo answers, “…You could have paid someone to know that.”

He presses 0.

Without missing a beat, Oikawa adds, already at the end of his rope, “You’ve been in love with Kenma ever since you were little and you didn’t have the guts to confess to him because you thought it was unrequited until graduation day when you finally, finally told him how you felt and you said you transcended another plane of existence when you saw the smile on Kenma’s face.”

Kuroo’s jaw tightens, for he only revealed this to Oikawa after he found out about his relationship with Iwaizumi. And he was a little tipsy that time. Oikawa can tell he’s still sceptical. There’s a pregnant pause before the middle blocker speaks.

“I’m calling Oikawa.”

The brown-haired man—or younger man—lets him do so with the return of his usual confidence. No one has Oikawa’s phone except himself. And given that he’s the only one in this house (Kuroo can turn the house over if he’d like), Kuroo has to believe him. He squints his eyes and pulls up Oikawa’s contact, pressing the call button. He continues to stare at the young Oikawa as the line is dialled.

Soon enough, the phone lying in a pile of sports magazines on Oikawa’s coffee table starts vibrating with an 8-bit Twilight Zone ringtone filling the room. Kuroo’s name flashes unmistakably on the screen.

The two teammates look at the vibrating phone and then at each other.

“Now do you believe me?” Oikawa questions, raising his palms to Kuroo.

“Holy shit.”

* * *

“So what the hell happened to you?” Kuroo questions, interest highly piqued as he stares Oikawa down, noting the darker shade of his brown hair, the softer lines of his face and the more youthful skin (not that older Oikawa had bad skin; hell, his skin condition was every model’s dream but the difference was noticeable).

“I don’t know!”

Huh, even his voice is more youthful.

“I woke up like this!”

“You should Snapchat that,” Kuroo quips.

“Kuroo, it’s not funny! I don’t know what the hell’s going on!” Oikawa wails.

“Okay okay,” Kuroo yields as he takes pity on Oikawa’s predicament. Trying to help make sense of the situation, he asks, “Did anything weird happen yesterday?”

Oikawa looks up at he tries to recollect. “I went to the lawyers’ in the morning…”

“Woah, lawyers?”

Oikawa sighs; he might as well divulge everything. “Iwa-chan and I are going through a divorce okay?”

He takes a deep breath and exhales it loudly as he falls back onto the couch, covering his face with the back of his arm. When he releases a pathetic wail, Kuroo half-cringes and half-sympathizes him.

“Seriously? A divorce? What happened?”

“I…don’t know?” Oikawa says, voice muffled behind his arm. He sits up abruptly and stares absentmindedly at his toes. “We quarrelled, sometimes over the smallest things. But that’s normal isn’t it? And we’re always fine after that. But one day he just said he couldn’t do this anymore and walked out.”

“Shit…” Kuroo says in lieu of any words of solace; he knows they’re not what Oikawa wants to hear right now.

“Hey Kuroo, don’t tell anyone alright?” Oikawa pleads, voice filling with fretfulness. “About the thing with Iwa-chan and me being like this and this whole mess. No one can know.”

“Sure,” Kuroo nods and jerks his head towards the kitchen. “But Kenma knows, he’s right there.”

“WHAT?!”

Oikawa almost snaps his neck turning to look at where Kuroo was facing. Kenma’s neutral expression is the complete opposite of Oikawa’s flabbergasted one. He’s looking up from his game and gives the setter a small nod in greeting before looking back down, seemingly immune to the surrealism of this.

“When did he—?!”

“Kenma was here all along, you just didn’t notice him,” Kuroo answers.

“Okay fine!” Oikawa shouts, pointing at Kenma. “But it stops at Kenma!”

“Of course, right Kenma?”

Quietly, the blonde closes his Nintendo DS and leans against the kitchen counter. “Okay. Oikawa-san, did you meet anyone weird yesterday?”

“Ooh yeah,” Kuroo adds. “Maybe you met some sorceress or something who gave you a new body.”

“What?” Oikawa snaps and turns to Kenma, who seems the most sensible one here all of a sudden. “Um…besides the lawyers and Iwa-chan, I met the team and—THE JANITOR!”

“Who?”

“Oh my god, it’s the janitor!” Oikawa yells, jumping up from his seat. “He was too young to be a janitor, I knew it!”

“The one you claimed to be talking to in the locker room?”

“Yes!”

“What did he say to you?” Kenma asks.

“He asked me why I looked so gloomy and I told him about the divorce…” his voice trails off as he surmises how it’s all connected.

“You should look for him,” Kenma suggests.

“I should, shouldn’t I?”

“I think he’s your spirit guide.”

“My what?”

“Your spirit guide. Your transformation is probably an answer to something,” Kenma explains.

“Should I be concerned that you’re playing too many video games and look absolutely unfazed about this?” Kuroo asks.

Before his boyfriend could answer however, Oikawa cuts in, “Kenma’s right, I have to find this janitor. I’m going to the gym.”

“Right now?” Kuroo calls after Oikawa as he bolts up the stairs to change out of his sleeping clothes. “What about lunch?”

“Do I look like I can eat lunch now?!” Oikawa’s vexed voice comes from upstairs.

“You look like you could eat three lunches…”

* * *

“Hello?” Oikawa echoes hesitantly into the empty locker room as he steps cautiously inside. Not surprisingly, he receives no answer.

Disguised in a hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap, lest someone recognizes him, Oikawa navigates through the lockers and benches in search for the mysterious janitor, Kunimi. Yet even as he reaches the exact spot he met him, there was no trace of the so-called spirit guide.

Oikawa knows he’s going to look really stupid for doing this but he’ll try anything at this point in time.

“Spirit guide?” he calls out tentatively. “Are you there?”

No response again. As he turns, something yellow peeks out at the corner of his eye.

The yellow wringer trolley.

Picking up his pace, Oikawa heads to where the trolley stands forlornly. He finds himself in the walkway leading to the showers, a trail of water flowing from the wheels down the corridor. He inspects it because everything is suspicious and possibly magical to him now, but it just seems like a normal puddle of water.

Standing upright, Oikawa prepares to follow the trail of water but instead, is met with none other than the janitor.

“What the f—!”

For the second time, he almost jumps out of his skin at the sudden appearance of the most run-of-the-mill spirit guide he’s ever seen, dressed in the same navy blue overalls.

“You!” he points a finger accusingly as he clutches his chest to gather his wits.

“Hello, Oikawa-san,” Kunimi greets nonchalantly and Oikawa doesn’t bother asking how he knows his name.

Wasting no time, he orders, “Turn me back!”

“Why?” Kunimi inquires. “I only granted your wish.”

“What wish?” he demands, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t you remember what you told me yesterday?”

Oikawa frowns as he tries to remember. He told him about the divorce, about what happened at the lawyers’ office, about what Iwaizumi said and…

Kunimi can practically see the cogs turning in Oikawa’s head.

…and that he wished he could go back.

The moment Oikawa’s brown eyes light up, Kunimi knows he got his answer.

“I wished I could go back,” he whispers out loud.

“And that’s what I granted.”

But instead of being grateful for a granted wish, which is downright miraculous, Oikawa sulks at Kunimi.

“I kind of meant go back in _time_ to find out what went wrong.”

Kunimi the spirit guide seems to take offence to that, as he glowers for a split second. “Well, I’m not in charge of time travelling so too bad. You’ll have to find Ennoshita for that.”

“Who?”

“Never mind,” Kunimi dismisses and recovers to his usual, passive countenance. “You came with a wish and I granted it. Not many people are offered that chance. Use it how you will. There are no consequences except for the ones you make for yourself.”

Oikawa is too stunned to respond, the weight of the situation robbing him of his ability to speak. It is only when Kunimi turns on his heels and steps into the dark walkway that Oikawa forces himself to speak.

“How do I turn back?”

Kunimi stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. “When you’ve accomplished your mission.”

“And what if I don’t?”

This time, Kunimi does turn around, and Oikawa almost misses the devious glint in his eyes.

“You will.”

Oikawa doesn’t know what to say to that sort of mysterious confidence, so he simply watches as Kunimi disappears into the shadows.

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and as the chilly air seeps into his skin, he shudders. Kenma was right, this transformation is an answer to something he asked for. And he asked to go back in order to find out where it all went downhill. He never wanted a divorce. Even if things with Iwaizumi were not the same anymore, he wanted to hold on to it. Give themselves some time to work it out. They always do. But since it has boiled down to this, Oikawa knows the game has changed.

Admittedly, the transformation is not what he imagined, but he could make do with this. If he couldn’t communicate properly with Iwaizumi anymore in his usual self, then assuming another's identity could do the trick. He’ll find out what changed between them, what went wrong; that’s the mission he set for himself. And with this body…Oikawa knows just how he should do it.

* * *

“So all I need to do is get close to Iwa-chan, find out what went wrong between us and fix things!” Oikawa explains animatedly, as if it was the answer to all his prayers.

“Okay…and how are you going to do that?” Kuroo asks.

The two teammates are seated in the middle blocker’s living room, with Kenma leaning against Kuroo as he taps away on his Nintendo DS, knees brought up against his chest. Oikawa had taken the liberty to pay an unexpected visit to Kuroo’s and Kenma’s shared apartment, anxious to share his enlightenment with them. (It was a plus point that he was fed dinner because he was famished.)

“Look at me!” Oikawa exclaims, holding up his arms. “I’m 21! So I’m going to be what 21-year-olds are. A university student! Specifically, a student at the university Iwa-chan works at.”

He finishes with a firm nod, as if 100% sure this plan will work.

“Wait,” Kuroo stops. “How do you know you’re 21?”

“My eyesight sucks right now, and I went for Lasik after I turned 21,” Oikawa rationalizes. “Also, I’m missing this scar on my hip, which I got after I went hiking in the mountains with Iwa-chan when we were 22. So I’m pretty sure I’m 21.”

“Oh.”

“So the plan,” Oikawa continues. “What do you think?”

“Workable,” Kuroo affirms and nudges his partner with his shoulder. Oikawa’s eyes brighten. “Kenma?”

The blonde nods, eyes still trained on his video game. “You’re going to need a few things.”

“You might also want to change your look a bit,” Kuroo advises. “You still look a little like 31-year-old Oikawa. You age well dammit.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” Oikawa asks, referring to the new look Kuroo advised him to have as he watches him dye his hair black in the mirror. At Oikawa’s request, Kuroo had brought a few things he needed to put the plan into motion.

One of it was black hair dye to cover up Oikawa’s natural brown hair. Kuroo planned on buying a hair straightener but the idea was swiftly rejected by Oikawa, who would never straighten his beautiful curls. He did accede to getting a haircut though, so he went out of the way to Setagaya for a trim. His chestnut hair is slightly shorter now, especially at the back, such that his hairline tapers into the top of his neck. (He considers keeping this hairstyle even after all this is over; it’s undeniably more cooling.)

Oikawa now sits in his bathroom, towel draped around his shoulders, as he observes the brown slowly disappear into blackness.

“Yeah, Iwaizumi’s pretty dense,” Kuroo says as he applies the dye evenly over Oikawa’s hair. “He’ll buy it as long as you build a convincing story. Anyway, did you receive the fake transcripts from Kenma?”

“Yup,” Oikawa chirps. “He’s really good. They look genuine.”

After Kenma said Oikawa would be needing a few things yesterday, he had efficiently delivered them, said materials being forged transcripts to help Oikawa enrol into the university as a sophomore. He even made him a fake ID, laminated card and all. Apparently, he had used some Adobe software to design the materials. It was truly a blessing to have Kenma, who is a talented game designer, supply all these to Oikawa free of charge.

“I’m a bit disturbed yet awed at how he does it,” Kuroo admits. “I hope he’s not engaging in any yakuza business.”

“It’s Kenma,” Oikawa deadpans. “I don’t think he’s interested in stuff like that.”

“Yeah you’re right,” Kuroo says and touches up on the dye, ensuring it’s applied uniformly and that no patch of brown hair is left untouched. “All done! It says on the box you have to leave it on for 25 minutes.”

“Thanks Kuroo!” Oikawa says and Kuroo hums in response. “By the way, Kenma gave me a new name. Ohara Tooru.”

“Oh yeah,” he starts, removing the gloves from his hands. “He thought you should go under an alias but figured you might want to stick with your given name. He changed the kanji though.”

“Good call.”

When 25 minutes have passed, Oikawa proceeded to rinse his hair, following the instructions to shampoo and condition as well. As he stands in front of the bathroom mirror blow-drying his hair, Kuroo comments, “Turned out well.”

Oikawa nods in approval and asks once he switches the hair-dryer off, “Did you get the glasses?”

“Yes yes,” Kuroo answers. The setter decided not to wear contacts as part of his new look, opting for a new pair of full-rimmed glasses instead. He had passed his prescription to Kuroo, something that took him a long time to find since it’s been 10 years he last wore glasses. “I left it on the—”

The Twilight Zone ringtone cuts Kuroo off and when Oikawa turns to see who’s calling, his eyes widen in shock.

“Shit! Iwa-chan’s calling!”

“Then pick it up,” Kuroo tells him.

“What do I say?!” Oikawa hisses as he starts to freak out. “I can’t tell him I’ve been transformed into my 21-year-old self! I’m supposed to _meet_ him like this, without him knowing it’s me!”

“Uhh…” Kuroo starts, very much aware that the phone is ringing away. “Tell him you’re out of town.”

“And then what?!” Oikawa picks up the phone as if it’s a ticking time-bomb.

“I don’t know! Think of something on the spot!”

“Argh fine!” he grits and finally accepts the call. When he speaks, his voice is cool, like he wasn’t just panicking a few seconds ago. “Hello?”

 _“Oikawa,”_ comes Iwaizumi’s voice on the other line. _“I texted you but you didn’t respond to my messages. So I called to tell you the meeting with the lawyers is next Tuesday at 2pm.”_

Oikawa swears internally (he forgot all about the lawyers’ meeting) before responding, “Oh, I haven’t checked my phone in a while. I uh…won’t be able to make it.”

_“Why not?”_

He can almost hear the frown in Iwaizumi’s voice.

“I…,” he stammers, looking at Kuroo for support and the black-haired man mouths ‘out of town’. “I’ll be out of town.”

 _“Huh?”_ Iwaizumi says in apparent disbelief. _“Where are you going?”_

“Uhh…” he hesitates and turns to his teammate again, but he simply gestures for him to continue. Oikawa wracks his brain for a convincing tale. “I’m going to Kyushu. My great granduncle who lives there just passed away and…there’s a whole family squabble over the inheritance you know? So we’re going there to…settle it.”

He cringes at the lame closing and hopes that Iwaizumi will buy it.

_“Since when did you have a great granduncle in Kyushu?”_

“He’s on my mum’s side,” Oikawa says quickly. “I don’t visit him often.”

_“So why’s he leaving you an inheritance?”_

Dammit Iwa-chan.

Oikawa’s quick thinking makes him say, “Uh, my mum was pretty close to him so I guess he wanted to have her covered you know? Maybe that’s why they’re squabbling. The other relatives probably don’t think I deserve a part of it—”

He only shuts up when Kuroo catches his attention by cutting his throat with his fingers in an attempt to tell him to stop talking.

‘Too much,’ he mouths and Oikawa purses his lips.

 _“Okay…”_ Iwaizumi says. _“When will you be back?”_

“Oh I don’t know…it could take quite some time. You know how these things go. But I’ll let you know when I’m heading back alright?”

_“Fine, I’ll let Akaashi know.”_

“Thanks Iwa-chan,” Oikawa finishes. “Anyway, I really have to go now, the taxi’s here!”

_“Oik—”_

The call is ended before Iwaizumi is able to get another syllable out and Oikawa breathes a sigh of relief. He holds up his phone and says to Kuroo, “I’m going to need a new phone.”

“You’re going to have to get that yourself,” he says. “I’m heading to practice.”

Oikawa then remembers they’ve got practice today. As he follows Kuroo out to retrieve his gym bag, he asks of him imploringly, “Kuroo, cover for me alright?”

“Of course, I’ll use the same story,” he assures him and smiles. “Good luck with the whole university student-thing.”

“Thank you,” he answers, not so much for the good luck, but for his support.

* * *

Oikawa hears the phone ring thrice before a familiar, sweet voice reaches his ear.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey mum?”

 _“Tooru!”_ she calls out happily. _“It’s nice of you to call. What’s going on?”_

Oikawa decides to cut to the chase. “Remember that really old great granduncle I have who lives all the way in Kyushu?”

 _“Yes…?”_ she replies tentatively, the feeling that something was up stirring within her.

“If Iwa-chan calls you asking about me, tell him my great granduncle passed away and the family is squabbling over the inheritance and we are there to settle the matter.”

_“Tooru…your great granduncle is already dead.”_

“Great!” Oikawa exclaims without thinking twice and then smacks his forehead. “I mean, it’s not great that he died but…never mind. Just help me out okay?”

Oikawa doesn’t miss the creeping worry in his mother’s voice when she answers. He tries not to sigh at the incoming questions.

 _“Tooru what’s going on? Did something happen between you and Hajime? Is this about the divorce…?”_ her voice tapers off and the sentence hangs uncertainly between them.

“I’m fixing it mum,” he replies evasively. His grip on the phone tightens, just as his chest clenches with desperation. “I’m going to fix our relationship. I know it’ll seem weird when Iwa-chan calls you, but please just go with it. I know what I’m doing and I know I can get him back. So let me try okay?”

There’s a pause on the line as Oikawa’s mother mulls over her son’s anxious words. He might have sounded sure of himself, but her gut feeling tells her there’s still a seed of doubt in him. His words were not absolute, they were still just hopes. But she knows one thing is unquestionable: he’s going to do his best to save his marriage. For that reason, she will help.

 _“Alright,”_ she agrees. _“Tooru, whatever you’re planning, don’t take it too far.”_

“I won’t mum,” he says, relieved that his mother is willing to help without demanding for answers.

 _“Hajime still loves you,”_ she starts, voice going tender. _“You know that right?”_

There was a time when Oikawa knows it for certain, it was as indisputable as time itself. But today, given all that’s happened, he’s not so sure.

“I know,” he lies.

_“Do what you have to do then. I love you.”_

“Love you too mum.”

Oikawa exhales when he puts his phone away. The reality of his situation hits him hard. He’d never imagined in a hundred lifetimes that he would meet someone who transforms him into his self from 10 years before. And that he’d be using it to save his marriage. It all seems so surreal. He half expects to wake up tomorrow in his original body in an empty bed with the knowledge that he will soon lose the person most important to him.

But Oikawa doesn’t want that to happen. No matter how weird it is or what he has to do, he wants to stay in this body and accomplish his mission. And to do that, he won’t waste time sitting around doubting himself. From next week onwards, he’s not going to be Oikawa Tooru the national volleyball player anymore. He’s going to be Ohara Tooru, a sports science major.

* * *

 **A/N:** About the kanji that Kenma changes Oikawa’s name to, it’s 亘 (still read as Tooru). It means span (as in breadth, think of the idea of extending across, which is related to the original kanji don’t you think?) or request.

Oh and I’d imagine Oikawa’s changed look would be something like [this](http://pottuposti.tumblr.com/post/161096065376/doodlin), portrayed perfectly by tumblr user pottuposti’s fanart. (I didn’t start out by basing Oikawa on the fanart, I just saw it one day on my dashboard and went “Oh! This was what I meant!”)

By the way, Oikawa and Iwaizumi were able to afford a two-storey house mainly because of the many sponsorships and (sports) modelling jobs Oikawa takes up ;)

Sorry for the lack of Iwaizumi in this one! The story will definitely pick up in the next chapter and Iwaizumi will take centre stage as well ;) Look out for it!


	3. You Win Some, You Lose Some

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story picks up!

Oikawa strides into the staff building with one goal in mind: to speak to Iwaizumi. His enrolment was a success, thanks to Kenma’s doctored transcripts which painted Oikawa as an exemplary student every university would be privileged to have. It turns out however, his course registration was not as smooth-sailing. Although he managed to register for most of his courses, the one course he was supposed to register for was already fully registered. And it was none other than Iwaizumi’s class, Foundations of Exercise Physiology.

Normally, each course had a few classes students could select from. But for whatever reason, the course Iwaizumi was teaching only had one class. And since it was fully registered, Oikawa had no way to be Iwaizumi’s student. But he was not about to give up taking the course and to rely on only being in the same faculty. That’ll give him too little opportunities to interact with him and Oikawa didn’t have the luxury of time. He _needed_ to be Iwaizumi’s student.

Which explains his presence in the staff building on the morning of his first day of school. He’s going to ask Iwaizumi to let him be in his class, even if he has to beg.

He steps up to the receptionist, a dark-haired, bespectacled beauty and out of habit, flashes her his most charming smile.

“Hi there,” he greets pleasantly and rests an elbow against the counter.

“Hello,” she responds amiably, looking up at him with neutral grey eyes. “How can I help you?”

Oikawa tries to ignore the fact that she didn’t react the same way all girls see him at first sight.

“I’m looking for Iwaizumi Hajime. Sensei,” he quickly adds, remembering he’s supposed to be a student.

“His office room number is 401. It’s on the fourth floor, first door on your right,” she answers.

“Thank you,” he chirps and is even more surprised (and a little snubbed; he’s pretty sure is 21-year-old self is just as charming as his 31-year-old self, if not more) when she merely nods and resumes whatever she was doing.

Oikawa makes his way to the fourth floor and reaches Iwaizumi’s office soon enough, the impeccable kanji printed on the door plate. He finds that he needs to take a breath to calm himself down, because he’s _nervous_. He attributes it to the fact that this is his first time meeting Iwaizumi as his 21-year-old self and once he does, the plan is in motion and there’s no turning back. It was also because Iwaizumi’s first impression of him matters, so he’s under pressure to make sure he doesn’t screw up. Coupled with the fact that he hasn’t seen Iwaizumi in a few days and he really, really misses him.

After a moment, Oikawa finally brings himself to knock.

“Come in,” says Iwaizumi’s familiar voice. Oikawa wets his lips and opens the door.

When he appears in Iwaizumi’s doorway in his button down and coat (new clothes he either bought online in a rush or borrowed from Kuroo), slim-fit jeans and half-rimmed glasses, he forces himself not to smirk when Iwaizumi balks.

“Oikawa?!” he exclaims, eyes wide as saucers and the crease in his eyebrows very pronounced. Oikawa has to steel himself from reacting too much.

“Who?” he asks innocently as he closes the door behind him. “My name is Ohara Tooru and I’m here to speak to you about registering for your class.”

“Huh?” he says dumbly, shock diffusing into utter confusion when Oikawa-lookalike regards him as if he doesn’t recognize him.

“I’m Ohara Tooru,” Oikawa repeats. “I need to talk to you about your class, Foundations of Exercise Physiology?”

It is after a few long moments that the teacher finally reacts.

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says lamely, still staring at Oikawa with a stunned expression. The resemblance is beyond uncanny.

It was taking Oikawa a lot of willpower to keep his own expressions in check, not only because he just wanted to blurt out “Iwa-chan!” and kiss him, but also because Iwaizumi looked absolutely adorable with his knitted eyebrows, usual frowny face and in a collared shirt rolled-up to his elbows (it was even folded in the way Oikawa had taught him).

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi mutters after recovering, shaking his head like he just woke up from a really weird dream. “You look like my—just…somebody I know.”

“Just somebody you know?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s your name again?”

“Ohara Tooru.”

“Really?” Iwaizumi says, brow raised and voice sceptical.

“Yes, uhh…” Oikawa stammers, aware of Iwaizumi’s suspicious tone and hopes the conversation doesn’t take an unfavourable turn. He hides his face by adjusting his glasses and continues, “I’m a new student and—”

“Hold on,” Iwaizumi says and Oikawa’s heart skips a beat. “Why don’t you take a seat.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he answers with relief and takes up the offer. “I was saying I’m a new student and I planned on registering for your class. But by the time I tried to, it was already fully registered.”

“You know you can take my class next semester right?”

“The thing is, I already planned my whole curriculum up till my final year,” Oikawa reasons smoothly (he had already rehearsed this part). “With internship and final year project accounted for. And I _have_ to take your class this semester. It’s very important.”

“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to wait until next semester,” Iwaizumi says. “I might be opening up a couple more classes then. My class isn’t a pre-requisite to any other courses, so your plan shouldn’t be too disrupted.”

“Please,” Oikawa implores and takes out a folder from his bag. “I promise you won’t regret taking me in. Here, these are my transcripts.”

Iwaizumi frowns slightly but otherwise accepts the transcripts. Despite firmly claiming he will not be accepting any more students, he peruses the transcripts, properly going through the results and testimonials. (His eyes flit to Oikawa for a second when he sees that he’s a Kyoto-kid.) Oikawa sits across him in anticipation, noticing the way Iwaizumi raises his brow when he comes across something outstanding probably.

By the time he was done, Iwaizumi must say he’s impressed. According to his transcripts, Oikawa was an exemplary student since elementary school, scoring A’s and the occasional B’s and winning various awards and competitions. He performed well in his club activities too, with basketball being his constant interest throughout elementary, middle and high school (he wouldn’t have pegged him to be a basketball player). Praised highly by his teachers and peers, he was really a student any teacher would be happy to have. Before enrolling here, he left his previous university in Kyoto with grades in the top 10 percentile of his cohort.

But Iwaizumi had a strict principle about not accepting more students he could handle, lest he neglects any one of them.

“Your achievements are impressive,” Iwaizumi admits and from his tone, Oikawa dreads what’s coming next. “But I won’t be accepting more students than I can handle. It’s not fair to the others.”

“Oh come on,” Oikawa retorts. “It’s not like you can take care of all your students. What difference does another one make?”

The ensuing silence tells Oikawa he did the one thing he was trying to avoid: screw up. But before he can cushion the rudeness of his words, Iwaizumi speaks.

“That’s,” he begins, still a little stunned at the way a new student argued with him. “An inappropriate thing to say. In any case, I don’t plan on taking any extra students, especially not this semester.”

“Wait!” Oikawa exclaims, internally smacking himself for speaking without thinking (again) and trying to salvage the situation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

But Iwaizumi had already stood up and was making his way to the door.

“Please get out of my office,” he deadpans, clearly not impressed with Oikawa, never mind his impeccable transcripts.

“Hold on—”

But Iwaizumi opens the door and Oikawa doesn’t manage to get another word out, because someone else was standing there with a surprised look on his face.

“Oh, Kindaichi,” Iwaizumi calls.

“Ah, Iwaizumi-sensei,” the one named Kindaichi greets. Oikawa notes his shallot-head and the folder in his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.”

“It’s okay, we just finished,” he tells him and quirks an eyebrow at Oikawa.

The 21-year-old huffs and seeing that this is a dead end, picks up his belongings and leaves, watching the door close behind Kindaichi.

* * *

At break time, Oikawa sits alone dejectedly at one of the north blocks of the campus, wondering why he had to say what he said and how he could possibly convince Iwaizumi to take him in. So much for setting a good impression.

Just as he’s about to leave, he spots a familiar head of gelled-up, spiky hair and an idea lights up in his mind.

Maybe he could lend a hand. Oikawa’s about to try anything.

“Hey!” he shouts across and waves to grab his attention when the guy looks around in confusion. Recognizing Oikawa, he makes his way over tentatively.

Oikawa is the first to speak. “You’re Kindaichi right?”

“Yeah…Kindaichi Yuutarou,” he introduces, taking a seat opposite Oikawa when he gestures for him to. “And you were the guy at Iwaizumi-sensei’s office right?”

“Yup. Oi—Ohara Tooru,” he corrects himself and introduces. “Are you Iwaizumi’s assistant or something?”

“No, I’m his student,” Kindaichi tells him.

“Student?” Oikawa repeats, interest piqued. “So you’re registered in his class?”

“Yes.”

“Lucky you…” Oikawa says in envy and then pouts. “I tried, but apparently his class is fully registered for.”

“That sucks,” Kindaichi says sympathetically. “You’re not the only one. There are a lot of students who want to register for his class but don’t get to.”

“What’s up with that?” Oikawa asks in exasperation, voice going a little high at the end.

“You don’t know?” Kindaichi asks back in a surprised tone.

“I’m new,” Oikawa answers, the statement self-explanatory.

“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “Iwaizumi-sensei’s one of the most popular teachers in the faculty. You know how they say a teacher isn’t supposed to just teach, they’re supposed to educate? He does that. His classes are great and even though he’s strict, he really cares about his students.”

Oikawa would be lying if he said he knew all of that. Popular? Yes, Oikawa was privy of that. Iwaizumi had mentioned a few times that particular semesters were busy because his classes were all full. He had also recounted numerous stories about his students, which university teachers usually don’t experience. And that was how Oikawa deduced that Iwaizumi must be approachable and popular enough to have students interact with him like that.

However, he can’t say the same for being aware of Iwaizumi’s teaching methods. And to hear it from his own student is a testament of its truthfulness. It was clear that Iwaizumi has good work ethic, but to the point where he goes beyond the call of duty was not something that Oikawa knew Iwaizumi did. He understood him enough to know that he’d be competent at his job, just…not _that_ good. After all, he had given up his dream job to stay in Tokyo with Oikawa, why would he still put in so much effort for a second-rate job?

“University teachers like that are really rare,” Kindaichi continues, oblivious to Oikawa’s abrupt silence and troubled expression. “That’s why word gets around. Seniors tell juniors whose classes they should take, seniors tell each other which courses Iwaizumi-sensei’s teaching this semester.”

Oikawa’s mildly aware of what Kindaichi’s saying. He’s more engrossed in his own train of thought. Iwaizumi Hajime treated his job seriously, took pride in his work and was revered by his students and it was new information to him. How could he have known these only now? It filled him with pride and shame at the same time and Oikawa hasn’t felt so conflicted before.

To think he even uttered such insensitive words to him just hours before. Iwaizumi had every right to kick him out of his office. If someone had such something like that to him about volleyball, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw a couple of snide remarks his way. But instead of retaliating in any way, Iwaizumi simply asked him to leave. Oikawa wants to kick himself.

“Ohara-san, are you alright?” comes Kindaichi awkwardly when he sees Oikawa sitting across him, brown eyes unfocused and bothered and mouth set in a thin line.

“Yeah,” Oikawa answers listlessly. “Just thinking.”

* * *

Two days later, Oikawa meets Kindaichi again, this time under different circumstances. Circumstances that he created for himself after vowing not to let the disaster of a first meeting be the end of it.

His conversation with Kindaichi left him dismayed but he resolved to march ahead with his plan, refusing to let it distress him any longer. Which is why he’s seated in Iwaizumi’s class, early and ready to learn even though he is still not registered in his class.

“Ohara-san,” Kindaichi greets in mild surprise when he sees him in the classroom and pulls out a chair next to him. “So you managed to register for Iwaizumi-sensei’s class?”

“Nope!”

Kindaichi stares at him in confusion but Oikawa offers no further explanation. “Okay…”

As his (future) classmates start pouring in, Oikawa’s beginning to feel a bit nervous. He sincerely hopes Iwaizumi wouldn’t kick him out of class after the backfired incident two days ago. But if anything, Iwaizumi is a live-and-let-live kind of guy so Oikawa finds a little comfort in that.

Iwaizumi soon strolls into the classroom right on time. Oikawa immediately perks up; today, he’s wearing a light grey button down with a navy blue merino wool V-neck sweater thrown over. Oikawa is so glad he buys his clothes for him, because with his own less-than-stellar fashion sense, he would not have been able to look like the attractive teacher everyone wants to bang.

A blush spreads across Oikawa’s face the moment the thought enters his head. It’s not like he hasn’t had such thoughts before, they were married for Christ’s sake. But thinking it as a 21-year-old student…well, that was different and honestly, a little scandalous. Did being in this body mean that he was subjected to the biological workings of a true 21-year-old? Oikawa sure as hell hoped not, but if it did, he’s relying on his self-control (which actually isn’t very remarkable when it came to one Iwaizumi Hajime) to keep himself in line.

“Iwaizumi-sensei,” a girl’s voice calls out with a lilt as he heads to the front of the classroom. Oikawa notes that it belongs to a girl with reddish brown hair and a lazy smile. “How was your semester break?”

“Could have been better,” was Iwaizumi’s short, non-committal reply as he boots up the computer system to get the projector working.

“Ehhh? Didn’t you go on a holiday with your girlfriend?”

“I heard you went to Korea?” an energetic blonde with an ear piercing supplements with a baseless conjecture.

Iwaizumi looks up at the two students with a straight face. “Shirofuku, Terushima, if you’re trying to get me to talk about my love life, I won’t.”

“Boo, we just want to know who the lucky girl is.”

“Or guy?”

“Flattery and speculation will get you nowhere.”

As the rest of the class snickers, the exchange surprises Oikawa. He hadn’t known Iwaizumi’s love life garnered that much interest among his students. Moreover, it seems as if this is not the first time they’re asking. Of course, Iwaizumi will not reveal anything. Very people know that he’s actually married, let alone married to the famous setter of the national volleyball team, Oikawa Tooru, and he has kept it that way for a long time, for which the reason is something Oikawa is familiar with.

Iwaizumi scans the classroom, ready to start the class proper, and looks Oikawa’s way. Green eyes meet brown and Oikawa’s a little wounded when the surprise turns into mild displeasure. In response, he musters an attractive smile but Iwaizumi’s frown stays in place. He decides not to say anything in favour of giving his attention to the rest of his class. Oikawa pouts.

He doesn’t pay much attention during class, at least not to what’s important. Instead of absorbing the material Iwaizumi’s teaching, he notices the way he talks, moves and the shape of his back when he turns to write something on the board. He does take notes though, after realizing the class (especially Kindaichi) was scribbling away from time to time.

Not only were they attentive, they were lively as well. Oikawa notes the active participation in Iwaizumi’s class, with hands being raised to ask questions and students actually responding to Iwaizumi’s questions. Granted, they came from the same few students, but this level of engagement was impressive, especially when Oikawa compared it to his own university days. He presumes the students had taken Iwaizumi’s other classes in previous semesters. He tells himself he’s going to have to pull up his socks if he wants to get into Iwaizumi’s good books in this lot of eager students.

When the lesson ends two hours later and students are leaving for the next class, Oikawa jumps when his name is called.

“Ohara, hang back for a while. I want to speak with you.”

“Oh, okay,” he answers, certain that it’s going to be about him crashing his class.

True enough, Iwaizumi says without preamble once the classroom is empty, “I don’t remember you registering for this class.”

“I didn’t,” Oikawa answers honestly and smiles innocently. “I couldn’t, remember?”

“So you want to explain why you’re here?” Iwaizumi prompts, not the least bit amused.

Oikawa can’t help but smirk. One of the most useful things universities offer is the ability to change your schedule during the first two weeks of school. And it’s done through the probation period when students are allowed to add, drop and switch classes. Essentially, students had two weeks to finalise their schedules and within that time, they were allowed to sit in or skip any classes with no disciplinary consequences.

“It’s the probation period right? I don’t need to register for a class to attend one.”

Oikawa knows Iwaizumi doesn’t have a reason to reject him this time, it’s clear from his brooding expression. It’s every student’s prerogative to attend any class they wished after all.

Alas, Iwaizumi comes up with nothing but a, “Fine,” and Oikawa secretly cheers in his mind.

* * *

Oikawa stays true to his word when he makes it a point to be an exemplary student, participating in class (he actually studied the materials beforehand; Kuroo teases him about it) and completing his assignments. At the end of the probation period, Oikawa is still crashing Iwaizumi’s class and has joined the growing number of students who speaks up during class. And when he answers a question no one can and Iwaizumi praises him (it was only a small nod and a simple “good”), Oikawa swells with satisfaction.

It helps that he has experienced Iwaizumi’s teaching methods first-hand and is thus more than willing to put his best foot forward for a nurturing teacher like Iwaizumi. The man not only has clear lesson plans prepared, he teaches in a way that helps his students understand the big picture and grasp the smaller details. He answers every question with clarity and patience and punctuates his lessons with anecdotes. He entertains the jokers of the class and takes note of the quieter ones, all the while staying unbiased. Oikawa learns that his husband’s reputation is founded on unadulterated truth. He supposes that’s why the school lets him get away with teaching only one class for the entire semester.

It is during Oikawa’s last class of the probation period when his hard work finally pays off.

As usual, the attendance sheet was being circulated. Even though it was not required for teachers to take their students’ attendance during the probation period, Iwaizumi chose to do so in order to keep track of the students. Of course, whether they turned up or not had no bearing on their grades. Out of habit, Oikawa’s ready to pass it to Kindaichi without sparing a look at it. After all, his name wouldn’t be on the register. But after Kindaichi signs against his name, he doesn’t pass it to the next person.

“Ohara-san, aren’t you going to take your attendance?” he asks.

“Huh?” Oikawa says dumbly.

“Your name’s here,” he tells him as-a-matter-of-factly and turns the paper to Oikawa.

Unmistakably, the name “Ohara Tooru” is printed between the lines.

Oikawa lets out a startled squeak, attracting the attention of the people at his table and Iwaizumi himself. He looks up, staring at him with bright, wide eyes, lips turned up into a silly grin. Iwaizumi notices the attendance sheet in front of Oikawa and understands the situation. He ignores Oikawa’s overjoyed expression and coolly looks away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi sees Oikawa excitedly signing against his name and passing it to the next person. If Iwaizumi is being honest, he’d admit that it was the new student’s persistence that bought him over. If he hadn’t been so determined to get into his class, he wouldn’t have performed the way he did during class. Students like that were enjoyable to teach and Iwaizumi supposes he could make an exception. He only hopes such behaviour would continue throughout the semester.

The lesson passes by in a blur for Oikawa, because he’s too busy being thrilled about the fact that Iwaizumi accepted him into his class. All because of his good behaviour and irresistible charm (it’s really not). When he thinks about it, this is where it all starts right? For him to get close to Iwaizumi and dig for valuable information that could save his marriage.

With a determined nod, Oikawa resolves to take this chance to start the ball rolling. He’s going to approach Iwaizumi after class.

Oikawa dawdles until everyone has left and the classroom is empty (he was silently staring daggers at Kindaichi who had gone up to ask Iwaizumi something, like hurry up and go already). When Kindaichi finally leaves, throwing Oikawa a curious sideways glance which he obviously doesn’t catch, Oikawa strolls his way to the front, where Iwaizumi was pointedly ignoring his looming presence.

“So…Iwaizumi-sensei,” he drawls, feeling tingly when he has to call his husband by such a salutation. “Thanks for accepting me into your class.”

Iwaizumi pauses his packing to meet Oikawa’s eyes.

“I didn’t see a reason not to,” he says simply and honestly.

“What changed your mind?” Oikawa asks, eager to keep the conversation going.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “I guess the transcripts weren’t lying about your classroom behaviour. You’ve shown that you grasp the concepts well and contribute in class. The other students could learn from you. Since having you in class could benefit the other students, I thought I could make an exception.”

“See!” Oikawa says in delight. “You should have just accepted me from the beginning.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Iwaizumi chides.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Oikawa answers instead of saying “it’s going to be the best damn decision you make” because he doesn’t want to cross any lines and screw up again. Aware of the lull in their exchange, Oikawa tries to steer the conversation to something he could exploit.

“You know, I could be beneficial in other ways.”

Fuck, did he just say that?

“I mean—as like a teacher assistant!” he hastily corrects when Iwaizumi shoots him a weird look. God, he _just_ reminded himself not to screw up. “I could help you with your work, and earn some extra cash while I’m at it. Poor university student over here, haha…”

Oikawa sweats nervously as Iwaizumi silently judges him.

“I don’t need a teacher assistant,” he tells him like it should be obvious. “I only have one class. And you can’t be a teacher assistant for a class you’re in. Now get to your next lesson.”

“Aww but—”

“Go,” he orders and leaves Oikawa behind in the classroom, dejected after another unsuccessful attempt.

* * *

“Ugh Kurooooo, it’s sooo hard!” Oikawa wails.

“Don’t tell _me_ that,” Kuroo quips and Kenma rolls his eyes.

“I’m talking about trying to get close to Iwa-chan you perv.”

He snatches a cushion off Kuroo’s couch and hugs it to his chest.

“What, your charm’s not effective enough?”

“No, and it’s not supposed to be. Because he’s married to me,” Oikawa points out indignantly. “He’s not letting me be his teacher assistant and I can’t rely on just being in his class to get close to him. I need another reason to see him more often.”

“What about consultations?” Kuroo suggests. “You could pretend to suck.”

Oikawa shakes his head. “I’ve been performing well so far. If I start to suck now, it’ll seem suspicious.”

“Hmm…” Kuroo hums, taking his point.

“Why don’t you hang around the places Iwaizumi-san frequents?” Kenma offers, briefly glancing up from his game.

“Kenma, that sounds a little stalker-ish.”

“If you have a legitimate reason to be where he usually is, then it won’t seem so stalker-ish.”

Oikawa looks down in deep thought, carefully considering the feasibility of Kenma’s suggestion. A single place pops into his mind when he thinks about somewhere Iwaizumi frequents. It was a little café near the Tokyo Metropolitan Gym, where his team practices every other day. He visits the café while waiting for Oikawa to finish practice, killing time by preparing lesson plans and grading his students’ assignments. Iwaizumi was there so often that he was already a regular. Oikawa knows that if he heads to the café after practice, he would find Iwaizumi waiting there for him without fail.

Without giving it further thought, Oikawa decides he’ll find part-time work there.

“I know where to go now! You’re the best Kenma!” he exclaims suddenly and slants a look at Kuroo. “It seems like you’re the only one coming up with good ideas and actually being useful.”

“Hey!” Kuroo protests. “Who’s the one letting you crash this apartment whenever you like? And who’s covering your ass to the team huh?”

“I’m kidding Kuroo,” Oikawa says in jest. He acknowledges that he has done more than he could ask for, especially explaining to the team the reason behind their vice captain’s sudden absence. Oikawa knows it was not an easy task. They generally bought the story of Oikawa having to depart for Kyushu to settle an urgent family matter, but the coach was not happy, considering how soon the Asian Games were. Speaking of which…

“How’s the team holding up?” Oikawa asks the middle blocker.

“We’re alright,” Kuroo replies. “We’re adjusting to a different tempo without your sets. Ushijima is still spiking as flawlessly as ever and Goshiki is picking up fast. No need to worry about our libero as well but…”

“But what?” Oikawa urges, sitting up.

Kuroo hesitates before answering, well aware that what he’s about to say will upset Oikawa. But he felt he shouldn’t keep it from him. “Coach is putting Kageyama on the team in your absence.”

Sure enough, Oikawa exhales through his nose and flops back against the couch. He looks away and folds his arms, squeezing the cushion against his chest. He won’t deny that this piece of information displeased him, irked him even, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

His one-sided rivalry with Kageyama was intense, bordering on unhealthy and it ate away at him knowing that the younger setter was his replacement. Ever since he joined the national team, Oikawa’s past insecurities were forcefully dug up and he had a few episodes he’d rather forget. But now he had something far more important to deal with. He needed to get someone back and if it means his place on the court is threatened, so be it. Oikawa vows it will only be temporary. Burying his anger and the deep-seated insecurities he hides from everyone, Oikawa huffs defiantly.

“Whatever. I’ll settle this quickly and take back my rightful place on the court.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, Iwaizumi would totally be the teacher every student (and some teachers) want to bang. By the way, Shirofuku is the third-year Fukurodani manager with an appetite.
> 
> I had trouble choosing who should be Oikawa’s teammates. I know Ushijima is definitely in and I wanted Bokuto to be other spiker. But it would seem weird because then Oikawa would be teammates with his divorce lawyer’s boyfriend (yes, Bokuto would totally be in a relationship with Akaashi) lol. That’s why I picked Goshiki instead. As for the libero, I really couldn’t pick anyone. If I had to choose, it would be Nishinoya but I already have other plans for him in this fic ;)
> 
> Let me know what you think of the story so far, now that Iwaizumi has more screen time and something’s brewing for Oikawa, and who you’d pick for the national team lol.


	4. What Goes Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter onwards, flashbacks are in italics and at the end of the chapter.

 

As a part-timer, Oikawa works on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, when he knows Iwaizumi will visit the café after school because those are his training days.

“And this is the drip coffee maker, which you’ll only get to use it next time,” Oikawa’s supervisor, a mellow young man with ash-coloured hair and a beauty mark below his eye, tells him. Oikawa thinks he exudes a refreshing vibe. “For now, let’s stick to the easy stuff.”

Oikawa nods and trails after Sugawara Koushi, not really paying attention to him as he brings him through the different types of equipment they have in the kitchen. Sugawara isn’t always at the café, leaving the shop to his trusty staff: a tall, bespectacled blonde who looks about the same age as Oikawa and his freckled friend who seems to admire him a tad much. But he had dropped by in the late afternoon to check on the café and welcome Oikawa to his first day on the job.

Oikawa had secured the job pretty effortlessly. Soon after he decided to work part-time here, he had visited the café and under the guise of being a genuine customer, asked the cashier (the freckled one) if they were up for hires. Sugawara, who was apparently the owner of the café, overheard and immediately asked if he was interested. Turns out it was Oikawa’s lucky day because they were short-handed and the interview was basically about what he can expect in the job and the moment Oikawa asked when he could start, he landed it.

So here he was at Kara Café, dressed in their black uniform with an orange apron tied around his waist. He had arrived to work after class, intending to catch Iwaizumi who always visits during the late afternoon. The blonde, Tsukishima, has already given him the standard orientation and being the unmotivated youngster he was, it was a quick and vague one. Not like Oikawa cared though, he’s only here for one thing and isn’t actually eager to learn how to make frappuccinos and what-not.

“So that’s about it,” Sugawara finishes with a warm smile and turns to Oikawa. “Whatever you’re unsure of, you can always learn on the job. Why don’t you go out to the counter and help Yamaguchi out? I’ll be leaving to run some errands.”

“Sure thing,” Oikawa says and heads out to find the friendlier employee. He spots him behind the counter wiping down their espresso machine. Since there was really nothing for him to occupy himself with as he waits for Iwaizumi to turn up, he says, “Hey, anything I can help with?”

Yamaguchi looks up and answers, “Hmm…we’re pretty set here and there aren’t many customers yet. Maybe you could study the menu, that’s what I did on my first day. It helps when you finally get to be a barista.”

Oikawa flashes him a smile and does just that, sitting at the far corner of the café as he skims through the menu. It’s a little mundane, but at least it fills his time with something. Despite being a small café, Kara Café actually offers a hearty range of food and beverages, from coffee and tea to breakfast food, pastries and desserts. There are few customers at this time and the quiet atmosphere makes it easy for him to actually memorize the menu items. By the time he was done, Oikawa’s starting to wonder if joining the café was the right idea.

It’s been close to an hour and Iwaizumi still has not walked in. He wonders if Iwaizumi had somehow decided to stop visiting the café now that they were separated and doesn’t have to meet him after practice anymore. The thought itself was enough to put a crease between Oikawa’s eyebrows. It wasn’t only the fact that this would be another failed attempt that upset Oikawa. It was also because it would be a testament of how their relationship was slowly crumbling now that habitual activities like meeting after practice and work were no longer part of a routine they built after years of being together.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Oikawa starts brooding until his depressing train of thought is interrupted by a soft jingle of a bell.g

“Hey,” a familiar voice reaches his ears. “The usual please.”

“Coming right up!” Yamaguchi chirps.

Perking up, Oikawa can’t help the grin that splits across his face. Right before his eyes, Iwaizumi is walking to an empty seat by the window, towards the back of the café, work bag hanging off his right shoulder. Oikawa chides himself for even doubting the all-knowing Kenma and forces himself to calm the fuck down. He’s acting like a high school girl who finally meets her crush after stalking him online for the past week.

Furtively, he slinks to the counter and hovers behind Yamaguchi. “Hey, can you let me serve?”

“Sure,” Yamaguchi agrees, not finding the way Oikawa was whispering suspicious at all. “Tsukki, pass the coffee to Ohara-kun when you’re done okay?”

“Nn,” Tsukishima responds as he pulls a shot of espresso.

As Tsukishima prepares Iwaizumi’s order, Oikawa’s eyes flit to him. Iwaizumi has his laptop out on the table and is sifting through his bag to pull out a few sheets of paper. He takes out a pen and noticing his laptop has started up, clasps it between his fingers to key his password in.

“Here,” Tsukishima says and holds the cup of long black to Oikawa, ignoring the fact that he was just staring at the customer.

“Thanks!” he says and takes the cup from him. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Oikawa steps out from behind the counter and saunters over to Iwaizumi.

The university teacher doesn’t look up at the approaching figure, assuming it’s either Tsukishima or Yamaguchi, and engrosses himself in his work.

“Your long black,” Oikawa says and places the cup on a spot not occupied by Iwaizumi’s stuff.

His blithe voice has Iwaizumi snapping his head up and Oikawa relishes in the startled look on his face. He decides he’ll initiate the conversation when Iwaizumi seems to forget how to speak.

“Hi.”

Iwaizumi turns a little red (in embarrassment or because of his super cool entrance, Oikawa can’t be sure) and finally manages to say, “Since when did you work here?”

“Today,” Oikawa states simply and grins. “Poor university student here remember?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and drags the cup towards him. “You managed to find work pretty quickly.”

“They were short-handed,” Oikawa explains and Iwaizumi only offers a noncommittal hum as he takes a sip of his hot drink.

Unwilling to let their conversation die without even getting out more than ten words, Oikawa continues, “So are you a regular? I didn’t hear you order at the counter.”

It’s a question he knows the answer to, but Iwaizumi doesn’t know that.

He licks his lips before answering, “Yeah. The coffee’s good and it’s quiet enough for me to grade my students’ assignments.”

Oikawa rests his weight on one leg.

“It’s not exactly near the university,” he points out, finding it easier to go with the flow of the conversation when it’s actually one.

“It’s close to the gym,” Iwaizumi reveals without any context.

Oikawa remembers to pretend he doesn’t know why that would matter.

“The Tokyo Metropolitan Gym? Why that particular place?” he asks, keeping his tone light even though he knows where this conversation is headed.

Iwaizumi glances up at him and hesitates a good while before replying, “My husband’s often there.”

It’s not like he wants to disclose this sort of information so freely, but something about Oikawa makes it easy to loosen his tongue; maybe it’s the fact that he’s new to Tokyo and would probably not make the connection between Iwaizumi and the national setter. Or maybe it’s Iwaizumi’s repressed need to simply tell another that he’s married (read: had been) and one ignorant new student wouldn’t matter.

“Ah, so I have the privilege of knowing the answer to what the class is so interested to know,” Oikawa says slowly when he remembers to immerse himself in his persona. There’s a hint of satisfaction when he says, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

Iwaizumi grimaces and Oikawa forgets to consider how ironic it is, given that he’s the reason behind the secret in the first place.

“So what does he do there?” Oikawa prods.

 “Practice. I wait for him here to finish.”

Oikawa smiles. _I know._

“So thoughtful, Iwa-chan.”

The nickname slips out unintentionally and Oikawa curses in his head. So much for immersing himself in his persona. He hasn’t called him ‘Iwaizumi-sensei’ enough to break the habit of saying ‘Iwa-chan’. He only prays that he doesn’t—

“What did you just call me?” Iwaizumi asks, slight disbelief in his tone like he thinks he heard wrongly.

“What? Nothing,” Oikawa claims unconvincingly, avoiding the pointed look Iwaizumi throws his way.

“You called me ‘Iwa-chan’,” he states.

Seeing how certain Iwaizumi was, Oikawa decides not to deny it and opts to play it off as a blunder.

“Oh haha…I did, didn’t I? Slip of the tongue!” he laughs but Iwaizumi isn’t amused. Instead, his reaction is more solemn than Oikawa expected.

Iwaizumi breaks their gaze and flits his eyes down at his steaming cup of long black.

“Don’t.”

His voice is stern, but more than that, he sounds…sad, almost wistful. Oikawa doesn’t know why his heart is clenching the way it is now.

Iwaizumi must have realized how his reaction must seem too harsh to Oikawa, for he adds quietly, “My husband calls me that.”

Oikawa swallows before answering awkwardly, “Right. Sorry.”

The air between them is tense and Oikawa knows he has crossed a line again. This time, it seems more personal than before and Oikawa’s pretty sure this is how the conversation ends. To be honest, he doesn’t feel like continuing anyway. Something about the forlorn look in Iwaizumi’s green eyes dampened his mood.

“Shouldn’t you get back to work?” Iwaizumi asks, thankfully breaking the uncomfortable silence and snapping Oikawa out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” Oikawa starts. “Of course. I should…get back to work.”

Cringing at his own clumsy response, Oikawa hurries back to the counter. He leaves Iwaizumi alone throughout the time he was there, occasionally glancing his way to see him diligently writing or typing. Oikawa wonders why it’s so hard to do this right. It’s not like he has forgotten how to talk to him. It’s just Iwa-chan.

But he has been with Iwaizumi for as long as he can remember that he has forgotten how to talk to him like a stranger. And he has forgotten that it’s Iwa-chan who was hurting. Iwa-chan who has to endure the pain of a divorce, even if he was the one who initiated it.

It is not until much later that Oikawa realizes Iwaizumi still refers to him as his husband.

* * *

If there’s one thing Oikawa Tooru prides himself for, it’s his tenacity. Which is why at the end of the week when Iwaizumi turns up at the café again, Oikawa makes another attempt.

Today, Tsukishima is the one who serves Iwaizumi his coffee. Oikawa brainstorms for a reason to strike a conversation but comes up with nothing so far. Iwaizumi is just sitting there, in the far corner of the café, poring over his work with a cup of coffee that’s been empty for quite some time now. They don’t make him order anything else and just lets him sit there however long he likes. Oikawa doesn’t want to risk going up to him for no reason, mindful of coming on too strong again. So he’s grateful for the window of opportunity that Yamaguchi brings when he tells him to deliver a plate of fruit tarts, consisting of a mango, strawberry and kiwi fruit tart, to Iwaizumi.

“Ohara-kun, could you bring those to Iwaizumi-san please?” Yamaguchi asks and jerks his chin to the plate of fruit tarts on the counter as he busies himself with stopping a small leak in the coffee machine. “Tell him it’s on the house.”

“Sure!” Oikawa says a little too quickly, dying for a reason to approach Iwaizumi. They’ve been so close yet so far in this tiny café. He picks up a fork and a few pieces of serviettes, ambling to Iwaizumi and thinking how he must be such a well-liked regular that the staff lets him stay as long as he likes and even gives him free food once in a while.

Oikawa reaches his table and sets the plate in front of Iwaizumi, filling his vision with a delectable burst of colours.

“It’s on the house,” he starts, before Iwaizumi could show his confusion.

Iwaizumi raises his brow in mild surprise, turns to Yamaguchi to meet his friendly smile and nods his appreciation.

“Thanks,” he says.

“So do you usually get free food?” Oikawa pretends not to know.

“Only sometimes,” Iwaizumi answers, looking up at Oikawa, who was trying to be as naturally casual as possible. “And whenever Yachi experiments with a new type of dessert.”

“Yachi?”

“Another part-timer,” Iwaizumi offers. “She helps to improve the menu and I’m usually the guinea pig.”

“Oh, must be nice,” Oikawa says perfunctorily, wondering when Iwaizumi didn’t just become a regular, but a friend.

Iwaizumi shrugs and returns to his laptop. Oikawa follows his movement and his gaze lands on the few sheets of paper on the table. He guesses easily that it’s a list of his students’ names, with the name ‘Kyoutani Kentarou’ right at the top of the page. Ah, a common topic.

Without preamble, Oikawa says, “Don’t you think Kyoutani is a funny one?”

Eyeing Oikawa at the suddenness of the question, Iwaizumi only responds when he figures the student was just glancing over his papers.

“I don’t see how.”

“For one, he only speaks in your class, did you know that?” he asks, genuinely interested over how Iwaizumi would answer.

The university teacher lowers his eyes in understanding. “Yeah, I’ve been told he’s quiet.”

“Why’s that?” Oikawa probes, innocent curiosity in his boyish voice. Iwaizumi never mentioned anything about a striped-hair blonde who resembles some sort of wild animal. “We share the same classes with Sawamura-sensei and Matsukawa-sensei, but he never says a word there. He only ever participates when it’s Iwaizumi-sensei’s class. Does he have a bias or something?”

“It’s not that,” Iwaizumi says in reticence.

“So what is it? I know your classes are more interesting,” Oikawa begins, meaning that as a statement of fact instead of an attempt at flattery. “But the other classes are not too bad, especially Matsukawa-sensei’s.”

Iwaizumi gets the feeling Oikawa is the type who doesn’t back down without a satisfactory answer. Yet, he couldn’t give him the truth. In actuality, Kyoutani was a problematic student who grew up with a single mother and mixed with bad company (he only enrolled into university because he was offered a spot in the baseball team and he was about to lose that too). Iwaizumi had discovered this and refused to let a kid shatter his bright future, taking it upon himself to whip him into shape. It worked; the kid was stubborn but Iwaizumi was doggedly obstinate. Within his freshman year, Kyoutani had pulled up his grades enough to avoid academic suspension and remained a valued batter on the baseball team.

Even though Oikawa harboured no ill-intention, Iwaizumi wanted to protect Kyoutani’s privacy. So he says vaguely, “Kyoutani took my class in his freshman year and I helped him pull up his grades, which were atrocious. He’s grateful I guess.”

“Hm,” Oikawa hums, perceptive enough to know that’s not the full story and conscious enough to stop asking further.

As if he’s afraid Oikawa might do just that, Iwaizumi asks, “Don’t you have coffees to make?”

“There aren’t any customers,” Oikawa says easily. It’s not entirely true; there are customers, just none queuing. “Besides, they don’t let me prepare the orders yet. I’m ‘still learning’.”

He brackets the last sentence in air quotes and rolls his eyes.

“Even though Tsukishima started preparing orders in his first week,” he points out sourly.

“That’s because he doesn’t screw up every order he gets,” Iwaizumi returns, just as easily.

“Rude!”

Oikawa’s reaction surprises Iwaizumi in a way that has nothing to do with his apparent lack of inhibition. He blinks at Oikawa, his neutral expression replaced by slightly wide eyes that held a hint of recognition, like he didn’t expect to find more of what was there when he looked at Oikawa.

Oikawa catches Iwaizumi’s gaze, the change in his expression and ensuing silence making him self-conscious. Did he say something wrong again?

“What?” he asks quietly.

Iwaizumi hastily looks away, shaking his head in response and of his thoughts.

“Nothing,” he claims. “You just…remind me of someone.”

It makes Oikawa panic for a fraction of a second, reproaching himself for letting his guard down and allowing Oikawa Tooru-the-national-volleyball-setter slip through his façade. When Iwaizumi doesn’t look at him warily or question him further, Oikawa breathes in relief for narrowly missing a screw-up.

But now that Iwaizumi was clearly thinking about him, Oikawa can’t help but to make sure that train of thought doesn’t leave the station. Pulling out a chair, he takes a seat across Iwaizumi, resting an elbow on the table. (He’s lucky that constantly chatting with a regular like Iwaizumi isn’t weird or disallowed in this place.)

“You know, you said that when he first met,” he brings up, brows raised in fake ignorance. “Who do I remind you of?”

“No one,” Iwaizumi lies through his teeth.

“No, tell me. I’m curious.”

Iwaizumi sighs, not so much in annoyance because of Oikawa’s persistence, but because he knows he can’t escape it this time. Not when Oikawa has already pulled up a seat across him and won’t leave until he’s on the same page.

“You remind me of my husband,” he finally admits, which only serves to embarrass him because this was his student he’s talking to damn it.

It doesn’t seem to bother Oikawa. “Really? What’s he like?”

Predictably, Iwaizumi remains reserved with his replies and doesn’t offer one.

“You mentioned he practises at the gym?” Oikawa presses on. “Is he an athlete?”

Iwaizumi darts his eyes up, any shred of possibility over Oikawa relenting disappearing into the quiet atmosphere.

“Yeah.”

Oikawa pretends to be impressed. “What sport does he play?”

Iwaizumi frowns. “I’d rather not say.”

“So mysterious,” he says teasingly, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted.

“He—We prefer to maintain a low profile. He’s well-known in his field, lots of fans and paparazzi, so it’s better this way.”

He doesn’t know why he’s even explaining himself but he feels the urge to defend his words, ignoring the way denial bubbles in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh…”

It sounds familiar to his ears.

It sounds like what he told Iwaizumi when he was trying to convince him to keep their relationship under wraps for now. He remembers he followed it with a promise of a revelation when the time is right. The time never came.

And Iwaizumi had been waiting.

“Besides,” he continues, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and averting his eyes. “We’re going through a divorce and I don’t really see him anymore so—never mind.”

It occurs to Oikawa that Iwaizumi decided he has waited long enough.

He looks up and meets Oikawa’s eyes, ascribing his lost gaze to having just been told a personal matter.

“You better get back to work,” Iwaizumi tells him, voice returning to its normal tone and volume.

“Right, yeah, I should…” Oikawa blinks and looks down. For some reason, he can’t seem to look him in the eye. He’s afraid that if he holds his dull, green eyes in his gaze, he might blurt out the riskiest things.

So he swallows his voice and stomachs the guilt, pushing himself off the seat to reluctantly get back to work. His steps are as heavy as the heart weighing in his chest and as he trudges to the counter, he wonders how Iwaizumi could stand waiting for something Oikawa only promised with his words, in this little café day after day. Apparently, he couldn’t.

The thought crosses Oikawa’s mind like a strike of lightning.

He should have realized it before, when Iwaizumi told him he’s a regular because he waits for him to finish practice. But his blunder took his mind off the matter and he had completely missed it.

“Iwaizumi-sensei,” he calls as he turns on his heel to face him.

“You said you rarely see him,” he says quite certainly, even though he’s not sure if the answer is something he wants to hear, but the need for affirmation burns within him.

The question that leaves his lips possesses a perplexity that he knows even his 31-year-old self would harbour.

“So why are you still here?”

He watches silently as the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth turns up ever-so-slightly in a wry smile.

“Habit, I guess.”

* * *

“Kuroo, the plan’s not working,” Oikawa laments into the phone that night.

“What? Getting Iwaizumi to talk?” the middle blocker asks. At the back of his mind, he’s wondering how frequent calls from Oikawa are going to be. It’s not that he minds, but if he coupled it with having Oikawa come over to his house more often than not, it’s going to take some getting used to.

That said, Kuroo knows how bizarre this whole situation is and to be honest, he still has some trouble wrapping his mind over it. And if this is his state of mind, what more could he say for Oikawa? So he willingly lends him a listening ear and a helping hand. After all, he’s pretty sure he’s Oikawa’s only friend at this point in time.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I tried getting him to talk about me but he was tight-lipped about it. Didn’t even want to reveal what sport I played.”

“Well…” Kuroo’s cautious voice comes through the receiver. “You did tell him to keep your relationship a secret.”

“Yes, I did,” Oikawa admits bitterly, temper flaring because he didn’t need to hear this from anyone else. “Thank you Kuroo, for reminding me.”

“Just saying,” he replies in a surrendering tone.

Oikawa squeezes his eyes in frustration, reproaching himself for snapping at Kuroo sarcastically. The guy had nothing to do with this. Oikawa had made choices that he now regrets and he has no one to blame but himself.

“No—you’re right,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kuroo assures and Oikawa hears a little rustling on the line before Kuroo speaks again. "Hey, I gotta go. Kenma’s parents are going to be here for dinner.”

He sounds apologetic even though he doesn’t need to be.

“Go ahead,” Oikawa tells him, voice airy to mask how pathetic he feels. He wishes he could have Hajime’s parents over for dinner too. It’s been a long time since he last saw Aunty Iwa.

“Get some rest alright?” Kuroo suggests. “Sleep on it.”

When Kuroo hangs up and the line goes dead, Oikawa suddenly feels very alone. He slides down his bed, head hitting his pillow as he stares up at the ceiling. The only light in the room emanates from the bedside lamp. If Iwaizumi were here, he would have grumbled because it’s too dark for him to review his lesson plans or students’ assignments or something. He would then scold Oikawa for watching volleyball matches on the iPad with such dim lighting. Regardless, he’d still shuffle to the switch and fill the room with light, at which Oikawa would yell in surprise but be thankful because he didn’t know how much his eyes were straining.

But Iwaizumi was not here to take care of him in his endearingly aggressive way and Oikawa doesn’t think he has felt as alone as he did now. And after today, he realizes Iwaizumi must have felt all alone in his promise to keep their relationship a secret, and he must have felt it for a long time.

The image of Iwaizumi this afternoon forms in Oikawa’s mind, a picture of conflict portrayed by the way Iwaizumi truly wanted to believe what he was saying but not quite making it. He must have desperately wanted to make their relationship public and Oikawa is more than familiar with how it feels to want something so badly but all it ever was is out of reach.

Guilt holds a vice grip on Oikawa’s chest as he realizes what he made Iwaizumi endure to keep his secret. A secret he selfishly forced Iwaizumi to keep, in exchange for a flimsy promise he had chucked to the back of his mind.

Oikawa slaps an arm over his eyes, blocking out the light which has suddenly become glaring. He bites his bottom lip in quiet vexation.

If this was where it all went wrong, how could Oikawa fix it, now that Iwaizumi has eliminated the problem altogether in his own cruel way?

* * *

_“Tooru, do they still think I’m your roommate?”_

_The question comes abruptly, but Oikawa doesn’t notice, too engrossed in studying new plays for the team. To Iwaizumi on the other hand, he’s aware of how sudden it seems, since he only decided to spit it out after brooding over it for the last few hours._

_It started with an offhanded comment from one of Oikawa’s teammates. They had arranged to meet at the gym as Oikawa’s practice ended pretty late, and he asked Iwaizumi to meet him there so they could go home together. Iwaizumi remembers the conversation he had with his husband, a typical one that involved Oikawa making a few petty demands and Iwaizumi acceding to them with a roll of his eyes, but acceding nonetheless._

_He had agreed to cook a late dinner when Oikawa complained about eating take-out food and he had agreed to buy him milk bread (the one from_ that _store) on his way to work tomorrow._

_He didn’t notice a couple of Oikawa’s teammates listening to their banter in amusement and was only aware when the libero teasingly told Oikawa he had “the best roommate ever”._

_But what Iwaizumi found strange was that Oikawa simply responded with a playful “don’t be jealous!” instead of correcting him._

_“Of course Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says airily, eyes still trained on the papers before him. “You_ are _my roommate.”_

_Iwaizumi sets the pile of laundry he just removed from the dryer on the coffee table, where Oikawa was sitting at._

_“Even though we’re married now?”_

_Oikawa finally looks up, Iwaizumi’s change in tone stealing his attention. He can tell Iwaizumi was restraining himself, voice teetering on the edge of accusatory. It doesn’t take a genius to know that there was something on his mind. Oikawa is well-acquainted with even the most imperceptible crease between his eyebrows. He puts his papers away and hoists himself up on the couch beside Iwaizumi. He can tell this is going to be a conversation he’d rather not have._

_“Iwa-chan, listen,” he starts, voice naturally taking on an imploring tone._

_But Iwaizumi doesn’t let him finish. “Why didn’t you tell them?”_

_“They don’t have to know!” Oikawa argues lightly._

_“After all this time, you still think that?” Iwaizumi asks, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening._

_Oikawa scoots closer to Iwaizumi, resting his palm on his knee. He searches Iwaizumi’s troubled eyes and hopes to find a compromise there. (Oikawa doesn’t realize that he doesn’t want Iwaizumi to compromise, he wants him to relent.)_

_“It’ll get out,” he insists. “You know it will.”_

_“And what’s wrong with that?”_

_“Nothing!” Oikawa exclaims, even though it was everything. “It’s just—I’m at the top of my game right now. I can’t have people picking apart my life piece by piece. You know how I’m one of the tabloids’ favourites now. They’ll use this against me and they won’t let me off. They won’t let_ you _off. I can’t afford to let that happen. There’s too many paparazzi, too many fans…”_

_His voice trails off, hoping that Iwaizumi would understand the impact of having the public know. Imploringly, he says, “It’s better this way. Trust me.”_

_Iwaizumi does._

_He didn’t show it, but in that moment, he has already yielded. Oikawa did not seem ready, and he had no intention of coercing him to do something he had qualms with. What Iwaizumi doesn’t realize is that it’s a two-way street._

_“Besides, it’s not like we’re laying low forever. We’ll tell people,” Oikawa says. “When the time is right.”_

_Iwaizumi meets Oikawa’s eyes, heart growing soft when he sees them full of hope. Finally, he exhales a deep breath._

_“Fine.”_

_“Hey, don’t make that face,” Oikawa beseeches gently, brushing his fingers against Iwaizumi’s cheek to tilt his face towards him. “I promise we will.”_

_He leans into the touch involuntarily, choosing to trust the warmth of his fingers and the fragility of a promise uttered as a conciliation._

_“I don’t need to tell people I love you,” Oikawa says, voice going soft and low. “You know I do.”_

_Iwaizumi takes his hand in his, tracing small circles on his skin. “I love you too.”_

But Iwaizumi doesn’t know. Because Oikawa forgets to show him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Iwaizumi didn’t expect to find when he looked at Oikawa was more similarities.


	5. Something Old, Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, thanks so much for the love in the previous chapter!

When Oikawa returns to school the next Monday, he feels a little more refreshed, having heeded Kuroo’s advice to sleep on it and crashed a few volleyball games at the beach over the weekend (where he knows he won’t be recognized).

He’s in a bit of a pinch now though, as he has no idea where Sawamura-sensei’s class is. And he has his sporadic email-checking habit to blame, for he only read the email from Sawamura notifying the class of the changed venue due to an administrative mix-up half an hour ago. With no real attachment to this school except for his mission, Oikawa never actually explored the campus before. And he has never visited Iwaizumi at his workplace enough to be familiar with the premises. So no, he had no idea where lecture hall 12 is.

At this rate, he’s going to be late and knowing Sawamura, he’s not going to be pleased. He was a stickler for punctuality.

Oikawa doesn’t think too much about it and jogs up the stairs, praying that he’ll find the place along the corridor or something. As he grips the banister and pulls himself up the steps, he neglects to notice the person walking down from the opposite direction. In a flurry of movement, Oikawa finds himself crashing against a toned chest, trying to regain his balance and fix his glasses.

“Ohara,” Oikawa hears the perpetrator call in mild surprise and concern. “Are you okay?”

When he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, Oikawa is face-to-face with Iwaizumi, who didn’t seem affected by the crash at all since he was walking down. In that split second, Oikawa notices how he’s taller than Iwaizumi, even as his 21-year-old self. Even amidst the disorientation, he finds it in himself to feel amused, because Iwaizumi never did catch up to him in terms of height. (He had reached 185cm tall by the time he was 20 and Iwaizumi only managed to close the gap with his ultimate height of 182cm.)

“Yep, fine,” Oikawa squeaks, startled to see Iwaizumi in whatever part of campus this was and finally orienting himself. Only when Iwaizumi bends down to pick up the belongings he dropped does Oikawa realize why Iwaizumi did not notice him as well.

There was a magazine hidden below the sheets of papers on the floor. And it looked like the type of magazines that teenagers read, with the striking font and myriad of colours splashed across the page. Oikawa follows suit to help Iwaizumi gather his papers, exploiting the opportunity to peek at the title of the page.

_Which Hogwarts House do you belong to? The Sorting Hat knows all!_

It makes Oikawa quirk an eyebrow because firstly, Iwaizumi would hardly ever be in possession of such a magazine and secondly, even if he did, he paid little attention to quizzes like this. Oikawa remembers he had to force Iwaizumi to take a quiz to find out what his Patronus would be after marathoning the Harry Potter series, with much difficulty. (It was a hedgehog.) So it seems surprising that Iwaizumi would be engrossed in such a magazine to the point it made him lose sight of his surroundings.

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi says as Oikawa hands him his papers. He doesn’t seem to realize that Oikawa had spotted the magazine. “What are you doing around here?”

“I’m lost,” he answers and figures that Iwaizumi could be a saviour in a time like this. “I’m looking for lecture hall 12 for my next class. It’s Sawamura-sensei’s class. Turns out the venue changed and I have no idea where it is or where I am.”

“Oh right, Sawamura mentioned something like that,” Iwaizumi says. “I can bring you there.”

“Really? That’s great! Thanks, Iwaizumi-sensei.”

Oikawa makes it a point to flash him a charming smile.

“Don’t mention it,” he murmurs and leads the way. “You’re in the west wing by the way. Hall 12 is in the north block.”

“I see,” Oikawa says, giving him a sidelong glance as he falls into step beside Iwaizumi. He’s _very_ interested in why he has that magazine. “So what did you get?”

“Huh?”

Iwaizumi knits his eyebrows together, facing Oikawa with a confused expression. God, how can someone be a brute _and_ adorable at the same time? Oikawa has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling.

“The quiz,” he states simply. “What House did you get sorted into?”

Iwaizumi blushes, snatching his eyes away in embarrassment and this time, Oikawa allows a small smile to play at the corner of his lips.

“It’s not mine,” he insists and Oikawa thinks it’s cute that he’s trying to explain himself. “Someone lent it to me and made a bet on the result.”

Oikawa’s guessing Matsukawa; he knows they’re friends as they are colleagues.

“Did he win?”

A pause before Iwaizumi answers, “No.”

“So what did you get?” Oikawa repeats.

“Hufflepuff.”

Oikawa doesn’t manage to bite back a snort. “Really?”

From the scowl that Iwaizumi suddenly sports, Oikawa can tell he’s a little affronted at the way he reacted. But come on, who can blame him?

“What,” Iwaizumi says curtly and with a hint of confusion. What’s so bad about Hufflepuff?

“It’s not that you aren’t kind or loyal or hardworking,” Oikawa explains, listing the traits off the tip of his tongue. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Iwaizumi probes, wondering when Ohara grew close to him that he talked as if he knew him well.

“It’s just that you’d fit better in Gryffindor,” Oikawa declares, fully confident in his proclamation.

“Gryffindor?” Iwaizumi repeats and consults the magazine. He scrunches his eyebrows as he reads, _“The Gryffindor House emphasizes the traits of courage, nerve and chivalry…its members are considered brave…they can also be short-tempered…”_

When he looks back up at Oikawa, the student just asks with a waggle of his eyebrows, “Right?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t agree nor deny, he merely tells him, “Matsukawa bet that I would be sorted into Gryffindor.”

“See!”

Rolling his eyes, he says, “Are you some kind of Sorting Hat expert now?”

“Well, I am pretty perceptive,” Oikawa boasts.

“Yeah? Do you even know which House you’d be sorted into?”

Iwaizumi always thought that a person could be perceptive, but not self-aware, if his experience was anything to go by.

“Of course!” Oikawa says smugly. “I don’t even need to take the quiz to know I’d be in Ravenclaw.”

The smug expression sits on his face while Iwaizumi stares at him, unconvinced. His lingering scepticism makes Oikawa ask in mock astonishment, “You don’t believe me?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t. While Ohara was intelligent, witty and individualistic, he just didn’t exude the vibe that most people in Ravenclaw did. (Like the receptionist, Shimizu. She’d be in Ravenclaw.) On the other hand, Ohara was definitely ambitious, resourceful, and achievement-oriented. Iwaizumi also wouldn’t put it past him to be cunning. All of this was just a hunch, but for some reason, it felt right.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “You look more like a Slytherin-person.”

Oikawa actually gasps, as if it literally wounded him.

“That’s preposterous!” he exclaims dramatically. “What makes you say that?”

Iwaizumi stares ahead thoughtfully. “You’re ambitious, considering your grades and what you told me about having your university curriculum all planned out. (Oikawa clears his throat uncomfortably.) And I’d imagine you didn’t get to where you are now if you weren’t achievement-oriented. You’re resourceful too, because you wanted to get into my class and you did, you needed a job and you got one. For all I know, you could have resorted to cunning ways to get what you wanted. Sounds perfect for Slytherin if you ask me.”

“Hey!” he starts to protest. “I’m not—”

He was about to deny that he’s cunning but then he remembers the countless times he’s tricked Ushijima and the numerous occasions he’s led Iwaizumi to do something for him. His (true) grades may not be a testament of his ambition, but his reputation in the volleyball field is. And yes, he wouldn’t have achieved what he had if he didn’t constantly set his eyes on the prize.

 So Iwaizumi’s not entirely wrong. Huh, interesting.

Oikawa must have been making an odd face, because the next thing he hears is Iwaizumi’s laughter, faint and mirthful and it arrests Oikawa, who realizes that it’s been a long time since he heard that. Ever since that incident, all he met with was Iwaizumi’s tired eyes and unsmiling lips and it made him miss this sound.

“It’s just a quiz,” Iwaizumi reminds, turning them round a corner.

No doubt it was just a quiz. But Oikawa got more out of this conversation than he did from every other Harry Potter-centric ones he had with Iwaizumi. Perhaps it’s because he always had the assumption that Iwa-chan would belong in Gryffindor and he in Ravenclaw that he never considered the other possibilities. But now that he thought about it, Hufflepuff and Slytherin don’t sound far off.

Nevertheless, he learnt something new today and it felt…nice. They’ve known each other for over 20 years and yet, he’s still learning. It was like going through an old memory box and finding something new hidden under the stash of faded photographs and time-worn trinkets. Oikawa’s heart thrums with controlled happiness at the new discovery, a silly smile tugging at his mouth. Would he find out more if he continues at this rate? Would he find out more if he was 31 years old again?

“Here you are,” Iwaizumi says, cutting him in the middle of his thoughts. They’re standing in front of the double doors, with the words “Lecture Hall 12” printed above. Oikawa suddenly dreads attending Sawamura’s class. He wants to stay.

“See you on Wednesday Ohara,” Iwaizumi says and turns to leave.

Before Oikawa allows himself enough time to regret it, he blurts, “Call me Tooru.”

Iwaizumi meets his eyes with doubtful ones. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on, please,” Oikawa pleads, trying to think of a reason to back it up.

“Why should I?”

“Because…Ohara isn’t even my real name,” Oikawa reveals, although the truth was not what he intended to say.

“It’s not?” Iwaizumi asks, voice inflecting with curiosity.

“Yeah,” Oikawa starts, thinking fast and keeping cool. “It’s my stepdad’s. My mum married him when I was very young and I naturally took on his name. Besides, I’m not exactly close to my stepdad and everyone calls me Tooru anyway.”

Iwaizumi eyes him carefully, as if he’s seriously considering Oikawa’s request. But in the end, he replies with, “I’ll see.”

Oikawa doesn’t deem it as a total loss, and elects to push his luck.

“Can I call you Hajime?” he asks with twinkling eyes, savouring the way his name spills from his lips.

“No,” Iwaizumi flatly rejects and deciding he’s done entertaining Oikawa for today, prepares to leave again.

“Iwa-sensei?” Oikawa tries again.

“No!” he says hotly. “Now get to class.”

Oikawa pouts as Iwaizumi leaves, unsure of what to make of Iwaizumi’s flushed ears.

* * *

By the time the next lesson rolls around, Oikawa’s still wondering if he should call Iwaizumi ‘Iwa-sensei’. (He thought about it, and concluded that ‘Hajime’ would be a bit much. At least ‘Iwa-sensei’ could be treated as a cute nickname.)

Unfortunately, that’s the least of his problems because right now, he’s trying not to let Kyoutani beat the crap out of him.

“Maybe you should learn how to mind your own damn business!” Kyoutani spits, shoving Oikawa’s shoulders and causing him to stumble back into the table.

“Kyoutani, stop it,” Yahaba warns but it falls on deaf ears.

“Nobody asked you for advice so keep it to yourself smart-ass,” Kyoutani snaps at Oikawa, lips curling into a snarl.

“Looking at you now, I wish I did,” Oikawa scoffs, unable to wrap his mind around why Kyoutani’s kicking such a big fuss about this. All he did was offer him a few kind words of (unsolicited) advice.

The rebellious-looking blonde actually growls through gritted teeth, lunging towards Oikawa to grab a fistful of his shirt. But Oikawa reacts quickly enough, smacking his arms away to give him one hard shove right in the middle of his chest. Kyoutani feels the breath get knocked out of him as he staggers backward, tripping over a chair and landing unceremoniously on his ass. Oikawa is mildly aware of the shocked gasps resounding around the classroom, but he’s more occupied with how he just made his worse.

Conscious of how badly this could turn out and not keen on experiencing any of that at all, Oikawa takes a deep breath and steps towards Kyoutani.

“Look—”

He doesn’t manage to get another word out because Kyoutani climbs back up in a second and decks him across the face. Oikawa feels the searing pain in his cheek as he reels back. He hears someone shriek and a whole lot of movement. He has his eyes squeezed shut as he grips the edge of the table for balance, so he doesn’t see how Kyoutani is struggling to get out of Yahaba’s and Kindaichi’s hold.

Fuck, it hurts. Why the face of all places? That wild animal can really pack a punch. What were they even fighting about again?

Right, the class had received their results for the first test of the semester. Apparently, Kyoutani didn’t perform very well, from the way he was being all grouchy over it. It wasn’t like he was eavesdropping on purpose but when he heard Kyoutani claim that he had studied hard for it, he couldn’t help but magnanimously share a few studying tips with him. That’s all good and well, but the air shifted when he finished with, _“After all, all brawn and no brains will get you nowhere, Kyouken-chan.”_

“Kyoutani!” Yahaba shouts in futility as the angered boy thrashes in their hold, eyes burning with fury and teeth bared.

Oikawa cracks open an eye when the pain dulls, only to see Kyoutani elbow Kindaichi in the gut and escape from their grasp, Yahaba alone not enough to hold him back.

The last thought that crosses his mind is ‘shit’, because there’s no way he can recover in time to dodge that. So he clenches his eyes shut and braces himself for the impact.

Yet it never comes.

The room goes eerily silent and when Oikawa dares to open his eyes, his breath hitches when he sees Kyoutani’s fist raised in front of his face, stopped mid-air by a vice grip on his wrist.

“What the hell is going on?” Iwaizumi questions, voice stern and sending shivers down their spines. He gives a hard look to Kyoutani and releases his grip on the boy, who steps back with an indignant expression on his face.

When nobody answers him, Iwaizumi sighs through his nose.

“See me after class,” he instructs and addresses the rest of the students. “Get back to your seats.”

The class shuffles back to their tables, murmuring under their breaths. Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa and asks quietly, “You okay?”

Embarrassed for a few reasons, Oikawa nods his head wordlessly, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Go clean up first,” Iwaizumi tells him and for a moment, Oikawa’s stubbornness inclines him to refuse but decides against it because he could really ice that cheek. He turns on his heels to stride out of the classroom, glowering at a simmered-down Kyoutani on his way out.

* * *

Oikawa did say he wanted an excuse to see Iwaizumi often, but sitting in his office nursing a bruised cheek was not how he imagined it’d happen.

“So,” Iwaizumi begins, moving to his seat after Oikawa plops himself on the chair. “Ohara—”

“Tooru,” Oikawa states wilfully, not forgetting about their previous conversation even though the pain was throbbing and rather distracting.

Iwaizumi sighs and lets him have his way this time. “Fine. Tooru.”

If Iwaizumi felt weird about calling him ‘Tooru’ because well, not only did he have the same name, he bore an uncanny resemblance to him as well, he kept it well-hidden.

“Why were you in a brawl with Kyoutani?”

“He started it,” Oikawa argues childishly, averting his eyes and folding his arms as he distinctively remembers how Kyoutani shoved him first.

“What did you say to him?” Iwaizumi asks without blinking.

“Why do you think I said anything to him?” Oikawa says with a scandalized voice. Why is it always his fault for some reason?

Iwaizumi leans against his chair and answers collectedly, “Kyoutani may look like it, but he doesn’t go around picking fights without being instigated.”

His past experience with a first-year Kyoutani had taught him that much. The boy had no father-figure and it was challenging for his mother to single-handedly raise him when they were not well-off in the first place. Her inevitable neglect allowed him to stray and he became the mutinous son who broke his mother’s heart.

But he managed to turn into a new leaf with Iwaizumi’s help. He tutored and advised him, was strict but never unreasonable and always reminded him that he doesn’t have to give a damn about him, but he had to do right by his mother. Iwaizumi knew it crushed him to make his mother cry and he wanted to change, so he merely provided the means necessary for him to do so. By his second year, he had pulled up his grades and severed all ties with bad company. A little hot-headed and mulish still, but he no longer terrorized others or committed anything reprehensible.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at Oikawa, indicating that he was waiting for a response. Oikawa chews on his bottom lip in annoyance and clicks his tongue.

“I overhead him complaining over his test results and offered him some studying advice,” he finally spills. “And I just told him that being all brawn and no brains won’t get him anywhere. How was I supposed to know he’d get offended?”

Iwaizumi takes a moment to process that information, only because he can’t imagine how Ohara could be so oblivious to his tactlessness.

“Really?” he asks disbelievingly, to which Oikawa looks away hotly. He releases an audible sigh and rises to his feet, facing his back to a sulking Oikawa as he grabs a can of green tea from his mini fridge.

He offers it to Oikawa by pressing it to his injured cheek, which has swelled a little and was slightly red.

“Ow!” Oikawa yelps in surprise, not expecting the sudden chill of the can. But the cold becomes welcoming within seconds, numbing the dull ache, and Oikawa cradles it against his cheek.

“You didn’t get to ice it right?” Iwaizumi asks rhetorically. “Get an ice pack when you leave. They should sell it in the convenience store on campus.”

“Thanks…” Oikawa mumbles, face heating up for a different reason. He’s still sour about the fact that he was caught in such a disgraceful fight and called to Iwaizumi’s office. And although he hasn’t been lectured yet, he’s not going to preclude it, knowing how Iwaizumi could nag. Before he can however, Oikawa says haughtily, “By the way, why am I the only one being called to your office? You just let Kyouken-chan off the hook!”

“Kyou—never mind. I didn’t let him off the hook, I will see him later,” Iwaizumi clarifies. “And like I said, Kyoutani doesn’t go around picking fights like that. So I figured you must have said something to him. And since you don’t seem like the type to get involved in fist fights, I wanted to get to the bottom of it. Now that it’s cleared, just…watch what you say.”

Oikawa’s a little surprised he didn’t get lectured and wonders if Iwa-chan’s nagging is special treatment reserved only for Oikawa Tooru. Either way, he welcomes the lack of admonishment and murmurs, “Yes sir.”

“And don’t call him ‘Kyouken-chan’.”

“Hm,” Oikawa grunts noncommittally and rolls the can on his cheek. He supposes it’s his cue to leave and wanting to spare himself from further mortification, he prepares to do so. Until his eyes catch what seem to be woodworking instructions spread across Iwaizumi’s keyboard.

They weren’t weird per se, just out of place among Iwaizumi’s academic-related books and papers. Upon closer look, Oikawa realizes they’re for an outdoor feature, like a summer house or gazebo or something.

“You’re moving into a new house?” he blurts out loud, the thought crossing his mind and refusing to leave until he finds out why exactly Iwaizumi was studying woodworking for an outdoor feature as if he was refurbishing a new house. Oikawa is suddenly reminded of the very last conversation he had with Iwaizumi before he was transformed into his 21-year-old self. The look from Iwaizumi’s jaded green eyes when he gave up ownership of the house, _their_ house, is seared into his memory.

Did he find a new house to move into? That would be quick. Oikawa thought Iwaizumi would take more time for something like this. After all, he couldn’t have moved on that quickly right? He couldn’t have given up on him right?

“Huh? Oh this?” Iwaizumi says, following Oikawa’s widened eyes to the prints littered on his keyboard. He gathers them and puts them away, telling Oikawa, “It’s for my current house.”

It quells Oikawa’s quickening heartbeat, but not his curiosity.

“Really?” he asks, keeping his voice level. “What are you going to do?”

Iwaizumi spares the papers a glance before replying vaguely with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Just finishing what I started.”

Recognizing this as Iwaizumi clamming up, Oikawa knows he won’t get much out of him if he continues asking. So he attempts a different method this time. He reckons Iwaizumi was right about him resorting to cunning ways, because he just devised a plan to extract information from the target.

“Even though you look like it, I’m pretty sure you know next to nothing about woodworking or the likes.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t take the bait just yet. “I’m no expert but at least I know what I’m doing.”

“That so? It’s not an easy job you know,” Oikawa taunts. “You have to get the basics right, finalize the design yet be prepared to make changes along the way and know where to find materials of the highest quality.”

“And you do?” Iwaizumi counters.

Oikawa smirks. “Of course! My mum’s in the business. Want me to help you shop?”

“Pass,” Iwaizumi says without missing a beat.

“Come on!” Oikawa urges, leaning against his desk. “I bet you don’t even know where to shop.”

“Yes I do,” Iwaizumi refutes. “All the forums say Mokkoya is the place to go, especially for first-timers—”

He only realizes his mistake when it’s too late and he has already divulged the part of the sentence that matters. Iwaizumi purses his mouth, not saying another word even though the damage is done. Across from him, Oikawa’s smirk grows wider and it makes Iwaizumi want to wipe it off his self-satisfied face.

However, Oikawa may know where he’s going, but he doesn’t know when.

“You don’t know when I’m going to Mokkoya.”

“Let’s see…” Oikawa starts and Iwaizumi instantly knows he is sorely mistaken. He finds that tone oddly familiar and nothing ever goes his way when he hears it. “You have classes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and you visit the café on those days as well, so that’s out. I don’t think you’d go on a work night so Tuesday and Thursday are out too. That leaves us with the weekend and I’m going with…Saturday.”

He only knows it’s Saturday because Iwaizumi likes to sleep in on Sundays. Oikawa waits patiently for Iwaizumi to admit he’s right, taking care not to smile till he hurts his cheek.

“You’re creepy.”

…Not the reaction he was expecting, but definitely deserves.

“Iwa-sensei, so mean…”

“Don’t play guessing games on my schedule,” he chides, ignoring Oikawa’s melodramatic response.

“I promise I won’t be troublesome! I’m sure you want the final product to be perfect right? No harm letting me tag along and give you some advice.”

Oikawa musters an innocuous smile, hoping that it’ll work on Iwaizumi the way it does when it’s Oikawa Tooru doing it.

“Fine,” Iwaizumi groans and relents, knowing that he’s been tricked but allowing himself the compensation of his student’s self-proclaimed expertise in the field. Besides, it’s not like Oikawa will listen even if he says no. He’d probably just turn up at the store and bother him so he might as well take his word for it and hopefully, Oikawa will be of some use.

“Yay!” Oikawa cheers and immediately winces when the pain spreads across his cheek.

“For now, can you please get that iced?” Iwaizumi asks exasperatedly.

“Okay!” Oikawa chirps and grabs his belongings, icing his cheek not really on top of his mind right now. “See you on Saturday! Oh, but I guess we’ll see each other on Friday first.”

“Just go.”

With a laugh, Oikawa waves Iwaizumi goodbye and exits his office, wondering how he’s going to learn everything about woodworking within the next 3 days.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hit me up with them Hogwarts AUs PLEASE. (No seriously, if you know of any good IwaOi Hogwarts AU, please recommend them to me.) Also, if you’d like, check out [this post](http://seijouline.tumblr.com/post/115069309957/hanamaki-so-iwaizumi-would-be-in-gryffindor) on which House Seijoh third years think they would be sorted to (fan-made). And omg, flowers bloom when Iwaizumi laughs istg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no flashback in this one but there's gonna be a long one next chapter! And what is Iwaizumi building...?


	6. Parting Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whhaaat, I can't believe we are halfway done already. At least the second part's definitely juicier than the first. In case you forgot, flashbacks are at the end of the chapter in italics. Enjoy!

"Kuroo!! Teach me everything you know about woodworking!” Oikawa yells as he barges into Kuroo’s room that evening, on a hunt for answers and dinner.

“What the fuck?” comes Kuroo’s raspy voice as he snaps his head to the door, where Oikawa freezes.

Wide-eyed, because he had apparently just walked in on his teammate kneeling over Kenma with one hand under the smaller man’s shirt, probably in the middle of a seductive caress over soft, pale skin. To top it off, Kuroo was shirtless, with his pants button popped open.

Oikawa’s eyes inadvertently zipped from a mildly annoyed Kuroo to an unfazed Kenma. The pudding-head was clad in an oversized sweater that stopped mid-thigh, so Oikawa couldn’t tell if he was wearing anything underneath at all. He peeked at Oikawa from under Kuroo, hands resting against Kuroo’s bare shoulders and one leg propped up to jut against Kuroo’s hip. He still has his socks on. Oikawa swallows.

When he eventually recovers his senses and realizes it’s not appropriate to _stare_ any longer, Oikawa croaks, “Sorry, I’ll—uh, wait outside.”

He turns on his heel and shuts the door behind him, face growing hot because somehow, catching pure, innocent, Kenma in such a compromising position did weird things to you (Kuroo be damned). It’s probably even less appropriate for Oikawa to wish that he had the luxury of being caught like that with his _own_ boyfriend.

Inside the room, Kuroo looks back at Kenma incredulously. With an arch of his eyebrow, he breathes, “Seriously? Can’t he wait till we’re done?”

Kenma lets his hands graze down Kuroo’s shoulders and chest, pushing him away a little.

“I’m not having sex with you while he’s waiting outside,” he says evenly. “Go settle it quickly.”

“What, no!” Kuroo protests and dives to scatter hungry kisses along Kenma’s exposed neck. “He can wait, we’ll be quick.”

“I don’t want to be quick,” Kenma says cryptically, looking away shyly as he lets the insinuation sink into Kuroo’s head.

“Ohhh…” Kuroo lets out in enlightenment. Looks like Kenma wanted to be pampered today. Well, if Kenma would be here waiting in quiet anticipation for languid sex, he supposes he could go out there and try to help his vice-captain as efficiently as possible.

“Fine,” Kuroo relents and presses a kiss to Kenma’s forehead before grabbing his shirt off the bed. “Wait here, kitten.”

Kenma hums and reaches over to the nightstand for his DS.

On the couch, Oikawa jumps in his seat when the door suddenly opens to reveal Kuroo padding out as he pulls a black shirt over his head. He steps to Oikawa and drops himself onto the opposite couch. Sweeping a hand through his unruly hair, he asks patronizingly, “Yes my dear vice-captain, what can I do for you?”

Oikawa purses his lips, figuring that he should have left their house altogether. But he needed answers and he had no one else to talk to. It’s utterly lonely to have to keep your predicaments to yourself.

“Sorry Kuroo, for the—uh…interruption.”

“It’s fine,” Kuroo tells him, waving his hand dismissively. He ruined the moment, but it’s not like they weren’t going to start from where they left off. “You were saying something about woodworking? Did I even hear you correctly? And is that a bruise on your cheek?”

Oikawa nods furiously. “Yes! And never mind the bruise. I found out that—”

“Hold up,” Kuroo interrupts, sitting up to take a closer look at Oikawa’s cheek. He wrinkles his nose when he asks, “How did you get that?”

Oikawa exhales impatiently but explains as succinctly as possible. “I accidentally offended a classmate and he didn’t take it so well. Got into an argument and then this happened. It would’ve been worse if Iwa-chan wasn’t there to stop the fight. Anyway!”

He takes a breath before continuing, “Iwa-chan then asked to see me in his office and I found out that he’s getting some sort of outdoor feature built, like a small summer house or gazebo, and that he’s going to buy the materials at Mokkoya. I managed to get him to let me join him but only because I told him I was a woodworking expert.”

A laugh barks out of Kuroo’s throat as he slaps a hand on his knee. “Wow Oikawa, you _really_ just wing it don’t you?”

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to think,” he states, puffing out his cheeks indignantly.

“And that’s why you get yourself in sticky situations,” Kuroo tells him as-a-matter-of-factly. “How are you going to pass off as a ‘woodworking expert’? Advise him on the different grades of wood?”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Oikawa mimics, sounding hopeful because Kuroo is his last and only resort.

“What makes you think I know anything about it?” Kuroo asks in amazement because last he checked, he was also a national volleyball player and knew nothing about woodworking or the likes.

“You just mentioned something about different grades of wood!” Oikawa points out, as if that was any indication of Kuroo’s knowledge.

“I just said that off the top of my head!” Kuroo explains, trying to manage Oikawa’s expectations.

Oikawa’s shoulders deflate and he sinks back into the couch dejectedly.

“Looks like I’ll have to do just that,” he muses. He’s been playing it by ear for the most part so far, surely he can keep it up right? How hard could it be? He’s good at pretending. Maybe Iwaizumi will buy it.

“Sorry I can’t help this time,” Kuroo says.

“It’s okay,” he sighs. “You should get back to…you know. Don’t let me keep you any longer.”

Kuroo makes a face. Even if he was going to get back to whatever they were doing, he’s not going to let Oikawa know that.

“Hey, no hurry. Kenma says he needs to get some submissions out anyway,” he lies easily and gets up. “You need anything else?”

“Oh…ah! Before you go,” Oikawa says and looks at Kuroo sheepishly. “Do you have any food?”

Kuroo hums and scratches the back of his neck, feeling a little sorry for Oikawa. “We have leftovers in the fridge if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind!” Oikawa says, rising from the couch to head to the kitchen. “I’m starving. I just need to heat it up in the microwave right?”

“Yeah, need help?” Kuroo offers.

“I’m good,” he says and makes a shooing gesture at him. “Don’t mind me.”

He flashes Kuroo a plastered smile and the middle blocker makes his way to his room with no questions asked. “Okay then, help yourself.”

Oikawa is immensely grateful that Kuroo and Kenma are at least considerate enough to keep their volume down, if they were doing anything at all. A part of him was envious that they had this, the pleasure of each other’s company, while he was stuck in this body missing Iwaizumi terribly. He wanted so painfully to feel Iwaizumi’s lips against his own and the familiar touch of Iwaizumi’s skin. It’s been too long since they even touched each other at all. But Oikawa repressed these feelings because this was not the time to be thinking about it, though he can’t escape the fact that’s he’s in a pretty pathetic place right now.

As he hunches over the table picking at leftover food (to be fair, it wasn’t all that bad), he is suddenly not that hungry anymore.

* * *

After three labourious days of trying to read up on woodworking and eventually giving up because it was unbearably boring, Oikawa finds himself arriving at Mokkoya early.

He realizes he didn’t ask Iwaizumi for his number and even though he could remember the number by heart, it would give himself away if he texted him now. So he resorts to waiting at the entrance for a spiky-haired teacher to appear. Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to wait long because soon enough, Iwaizumi comes strolling up, hands in his jacket pocket.

Oikawa’s face immediately lights up at the sight of Iwaizumi, who was dressed in a light grey button down and jeans, with his favourite hoodie thrown over his well-built frame. Iwaizumi actually pulls his eyebrows together when he spots Oikawa, but then again, what did he expect?

When the student comes bounding up to him with a grin plastered on his face, Iwaizumi says in lieu of a greeting, “You’re early.”

“Like I always am for your classes,” Oikawa says cheekily as they step through the automatic doors.

“No you’re not,” Iwaizumi says flatly. He distinctively remembers Oikawa being late a couple of times.

“Like I am for _most_ of your classes then.”

“Are you going to be helpful or not?” Iwaizumi asks, heading to where the shopping carts are parked.

“Of course!”

Not an hour later, Iwaizumi stares blandly at Oikawa, who was still sporting a forced smile pretending as if Iwaizumi was not the one who single-handedly picked out the materials sitting in the cart.

“You know nothing about woodworking right?” he simply says, making it a point to emphasize ‘nothing’. This guy is basically a fraud.

“Um…” Oikawa stalls, smile faltering into a sheepish look.

“I thought you said your mum’s in the business?” Iwaizumi questions, more curious than judgemental.

“She is!” Oikawa says hastily and adjusts his glasses to occupy his hands. “But maybe I didn’t pick up from her as much as I thought?”

“The hell, so you’re useless,” Iwaizumi states, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Hey! I may not be able to offer an expert opinion, but at least I have good tastes,” Oikawa counters smugly.

“In wood and concrete?”

“In style,” he answers, drawling the syllable out.

“I’m not making anything flashy you know,” Iwaizumi points out. “Just something simple and durable.”

“Don’t worry, you take care of that and I’ll take care of the rest,” Oikawa winks and pulls on the edge of the cart towards the paint section, dragging Iwaizumi along with him.

It’s only when they’re choosing which types of paint to use that Oikawa finally has the opportunity to strike a proper conversation with Iwaizumi. One that doesn’t involve Iwaizumi consulting him on whether he should use cedar wood or cypress wood for the railings and overhangs. It’s so much easier conversing at his own pace when he doesn’t have to rack his brains to bullshit his way through.

Oikawa asks just as Iwaizumi throws a couple of paintbrushes into the cart, “So why are you building a gazebo anyway?”

He wants to know as a student as much as he is his husband.

The question distracts Iwaizumi from the price tag he was checking out and he puts the can of paint back on the shelf before taking another one. When he replies, he does not look at Oikawa, but his eyes are not focusing on the price tag either.

“It’s not exactly a gazebo…there’s a different purpose for it,” he decides to answer honestly, though it was clear from his voice that he was still withholding.

Confusion is apparent on Oikawa’s face because he has no idea Iwaizumi was even planning on doing something like this. The fact that it was for _their_ house, the same house that Iwaizumi was giving up to him, made it all the more inexplicable.

In Oikawa’s silence, Iwaizumi offers, “I made a promise and I’m keeping it.”

If that was supposed to explain anything further, it failed to do so. In fact, it did the opposite of baffling Oikawa even more. Given that it was going to be in their house, it could only mean that the “someone” Iwaizumi mentioned was him…right? Yet, for the life of him, Oikawa cannot remember Iwaizumi promising he’d build anything like this.

“Is it a promise to your husband?” Oikawa risks and he hated the fact that it was a gamble. He hated the fact that talking about him made Iwaizumi morose and withdrawn. There was a time when they were each other’s very essence of happiness. Iwaizumi is still his, and he’s here to make sure it stays the same way for him.

The silent look that Iwaizumi gives him does not answer his question.

“Do you think you’ll ever get back together with him?” Oikawa tries again, posing the question as innocuously as possible, even though he’s dying to know the answer.

Iwaizumi decides he won’t buy the paints here yet; it’s still too early to get them, though he leaves the brushes in the cart. He pushes it through the aisle, taking his time to answer Oikawa’s question, oblivious to how his companion was practically buzzing with anticipation.

“I don’t think so,” he finally says and Oikawa feels his heart drop.

“Why not?” he blurts, trying to keep the awful thoughts at bay. There’s a hundred things he wants to find out, but he chooses the one whose answer could shatter his world in a heartbeat.

“Don’t you love him anymore?” he presses, following after Iwaizumi’s retreating figure.

There’s a slight pause in his step and Oikawa holds his breath.

“I do,” Iwaizumi admits and it lights a flicker of hope in Oikawa. His world doesn’t crumble just yet. “But sometimes it’s not enough.”

“What do you mean?” he shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. And he doesn’t, because there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’. They love each other and it should be as simple as that.

Oikawa yearns to know the meaning behind Iwaizumi’s words. They have always had each other, and it has always been enough. So what changed?

“You won’t understand,” Iwaizumi tells him with a shake of his head.

“Try me,” Oikawa challenges.

Iwaizumi inhales and unknowingly grips the handle a little more tightly. “He and I…we want different things. Things we can’t give each other.”

The response catches Oikawa slightly off guard. He hadn’t expected Iwaizumi to give up that information so easily despite the way he demanded it. Perhaps their encounters have opened him up and lowered his guard enough to make him see Oikawa as a confidante.

“What is it that you want?”

Oikawa could see that their marriage suffered problems like everyone else’s, but he couldn’t see that the fact he had to ask this question was a problem in itself.

It takes a while before Iwaizumi says, mouth set in a thin line, “Stop asking questions.”

Or perhaps not.

Fully aware that he has ventured entirely into sensitive territory, Oikawa falls back but doesn’t retreat completely.

“Then, what if he’s trying to make amends?” he suggests, studying Iwaizumi’s expression.

“I’d say he’s doing a pretty shitty job at it,” Iwaizumi shoots without mincing his words. “He’s disappeared to Kyushu at a time like this. I know it’s a family emergency, but it’s so hard to get a hold of him, even through his mum.”

It sounds like he’s grousing more than he’s answering Oikawa’s question and the setter silently thanks his mother for backing him up even with the severe lack of information he provided her with.

“Maybe he has his reasons,” he argues, reining in the anxiety in his voice as he tries to cast a more positive light on his absence and the seeming lack of effort in fixing their crumbling marriage because it’s not like that at all. He’s trying, he’s trying _right now_.

“Why do you care?”

It comes out laced with curiosity, instead of coming off as apprehensive.

Oikawa shrugs with false nonchalance. “Just don’t want you to give up on something that could be saved.”

His chestnut eyes meet Iwaizumi’s for a brief moment before they fall to the uneven drawstrings of his hoodie. He always lets it be. It drives him crazy sometimes.

“You get this sad, faraway look in your eyes when you talk about him,” he murmurs and dares himself to look him in the eye again. “Like you can’t let him go.”

Iwaizumi’s lips part in small surprise and Oikawa doesn’t know if it’s because he didn’t know he carried that look with him whenever he talked about Oikawa or because he got caught. He must have figured how silly he looked, staring wide-eyed at his student who meets him with a placid expression, as if he didn’t just bare Iwaizumi’s private sentiments, for he clears his throat and pushes the cart without a destination in mind.

“It’s complicated,” he merely says, offering neither explanation nor peace of mind.

Oikawa follows after him and falls into step, content that he had at least discovered that Iwaizumi harboured lingering feelings towards him. He said he still loved him.

Not all is lost and Oikawa lets that keep his hopes up.

He offers a politically correct answer with, “Well, most people are.”

Might as well show him they’re on the same side.

The trip goes on without any more talk about private matters, much to Iwaizumi’s relief. They settle back into a comfortable pace, with the occasional banter and Oikawa’s insufferable teasing. Iwaizumi takes it like a champ, though he has to remind himself that smacking your student over the head, no matter how much he deserves it, is not appropriate. Within the next hour, they’ve picked out almost all the materials Iwaizumi would need, with the exception of the roofing materials, because he said he intended to get them elsewhere.

Oikawa can’t say he’s thrilled to be heading home after they leave Mokkoya, though he could possibly head to the beach for a few rounds of volleyball. Perhaps the orange-haired jumping bean will be there. It’s Saturday after all. As he thinks about how he could otherwise occupy his time, Oikawa absentmindedly peers at the form Iwaizumi was filling out.

They’re at the delivery counter where Iwaizumi was indicating his preferences and Oikawa notices that he had written tomorrow’s date for his materials (essentially the heavy-duty stuff) to be delivered to their address.

“Do they work on Sundays?” Oikawa asks doubtfully.

“I just know they deliver on Sundays,” Iwaizumi answers as he scribbles.

Head tilted to the side, Oikawa asks, “Then how are they going to help you build the gazebo tomorrow?”

Iwaizumi stares at him with furrowed brows. “I’m building it myself.”

The reply, as well as the straightforward way Iwaizumi says it, makes Oikawa pull back in astonishment. It earns him a deeper frown from Iwaizumi, who finds it completely ridiculous that Oikawa would be this surprised.

“Why else do you think I’m at a DIY store?” Iwaizumi asks like it should be obvious.

“Because you want to choose your own materials?” Oikawa says, eyebrows matching Iwaizumi’s, except his stems from legitimate confusion.

“I get to choose my own materials even if I hire a contractor,” Iwaizumi replies, as if he’s making an explanation for a question that needs none.

“Well excuse me,” Oikawa retorts as he draws out the vowel, growing pink in the face. “It didn’t cross my mind.”

“Apparently you don’t have one,” Iwaizumi says easily as he hands the completed form to the lady at the counter.

“Rude!”

Iwaizumi meets Oikawa’s eyes before darting them away quickly. Before he can say anything, Oikawa beats him to it.

“Wait, so you’re really building it yourself?”

“Not entirely,” he clarifies, wondering why his student is so eager to know. “I have help. But yeah, I’m building it from scratch personally.”

“Wow,” Oikawa lets out with an impressed tilt of his head, turning to rest his elbows on the counter. For that fraction of a second, he takes the mind of Oikawa Tooru instead of Ohara Tooru and says teasingly, “I’d like to see that.”

Oikawa doesn’t realize his mistake, even as Iwaizumi draws his eyebrows together in a disapproving frown.

“Don’t say shit like that,” he chides, voice rough.

“Why not?” Oikawa cocks his head sideways. It was just a joke that alluded to his attractiveness, surely Iwaizumi knew that his physical attractiveness was more than a notch higher than average guys’.

“You’re my student,” he reasons curtly.

“Oh please,” Oikawa dismisses with a flippant wave of his hand, thinking nothing of his comment. “It’s not like it’s illegal if we hook up. You know I’m of legal age.”

“That,” Iwaizumi starts and seems to be stumped because it takes a few seconds before he blinks and continues, “Is highly inappropriate.”

Oikawa can tell he’s trying to keep a straight face; it’s rather cute. His slanted eyebrows, scrunched-up nose and slight frown make Oikawa want to snake his arms around his waist and press his hips against his, the fact that they’re in public not a factor of consideration at all. But Iwaizumi’s sternness snaps him out of whatever lustful daydream he’s slipping into.

“And I’m married,” he tells him with an air of finality, smacking him over the head because this time, he really deserves it.

“Ow!” Oikawa yelps, rubbing the spot where Iwaizumi’s hand met the back of his head.

Iwaizumi glares at Oikawa before turning to the lady to thank her as she hands him his processed delivery order and glances at the both of them nervously. He stalks off and Oikawa doesn’t know whether he should be feeling disappointed that his 21-year-old self could not charm Iwaizumi or proud that…well, that his 21-year-old self could not charm Iwaizumi.

When Oikawa finally snaps back to his senses, he flashes a bright smile at the bemused lady and catches up to Iwaizumi in a few long strides.

“Wait, Iwa-sensei! I’m sorry! You know I’m just kidding.”

“You better be,” Iwaizumi warns, not registering the fact that Oikawa had called him ‘Iwa-sensei’ without his permission. He muses if that’s a blush tinting Iwaizumi’s cheeks. Oikawa chuckles and follows Iwaizumi towards the exit, leaving the jest behind.

“So when are you going to start building the gazebo?” he asks.

“Tomorrow.”

“Huh, that’s—”

He was about to comment on how efficient Iwaizumi is but his thoughts are interrupted when a sudden realization strikes him, as if ‘tomorrow’ was a trigger for ‘I forgot to turn off the stove’.

“Tomorrow,” Oikawa repeats dumbly.

“That’s what I said,” Iwaizumi says and gives him a weird look. “Anyway, even though you weren’t that much of a help, thanks for the company I guess.”

He’s rubbing his nape as a force of habit and is deliberately not looking at Oikawa but it doesn’t matter anyway; the brown-haired student was too busy hanging onto that one word and its implications to notice what Iwaizumi is saying.

Because it had dawned on Oikawa that he would have to move out of his own home. Today.

* * *

“Kuroo!! Please take me in to your apartment!” Oikawa wails outside the middle blocker’s house as Kuroo stands on the opposite side of the door, trying not to look surprised but Oikawa is making it really hard all the time.

“What the hell?” he says, and that’s all he manages as he stares at Oikawa with a duffel bag and backpack slung over his shoulders and looking as if he’s about to bawl if Kuroo doesn’t take him in this instant.

In the next moment, Kenma pops his head from under Kuroo’s outstretched arm, more surprised at Oikawa’s similarity with a college student who’s moving into his dorm room for the first time than at his appearance itself.

“Oikawa-san? What’s wrong?”

Kenma’s reaction, a stark contrast to Kuroo’s, makes Oikawa want to throw his belongings to the ground and engulf him in a hug.

“Kenma…” he calls with a trembling voice and Kuroo lets out an audible sigh.

A few minutes later, Kuroo finds himself seated between Kenma and Oikawa, who was chugging down a bottle of beer. He had his own in front of him as well; he figured he could probably use one too. The both of them don’t ask Oikawa any questions. He would divulge all once he’s done calming himself down with good old alcohol.

True enough, Oikawa pulls the bottle from his lips with a satisfied gasp, squeezing his eyes as the hot liquid burns down his throat and starts the ball rolling.

“Iwa-chan’s building the damn gazebo in our house!” he exclaims.

“Maybe back it up a little bit?” Kuroo suggests.

“Right,” he says, realizing that Kenma wouldn’t have a single clue about what he’s saying. He faces Kenma as he fills him in, “I found out that Iwa-chan is building a gazebo of some sort and I accompanied him to buy the materials under the guise of a woodworking expert.”

Kenma’s throws him a quizzical gaze but doesn’t say anything.

“The expert thing didn’t go very well in case you’re wondering Kuroo,” Oikawa tells his teammate, who gives him a ‘why am I not surprised’ look. “But I found out that Iwa-chan’s building it in our house tomorrow!”

When that doesn’t elicit the response he was expecting, Oikawa repeats more vehemently this time, “Tomorrow!!”

“Okay we get it,” Kuroo says. “You can’t risk having him know that his student happens to be living in his house.”

“Yes,” Oikawa breathes, relieved that Kuroo and Kenma haven’t chased him out of their house yet. “I can’t stay there anymore.”

“It’s okay Oikawa-san,” Kenma tells him, voice reassuring although it isn’t intentionally so. “You can stay here.”

The fact that Oikawa has nowhere else to go remains unspoken.

“Thanks…” he murmurs gratefully, not knowing what else he could offer. He didn’t give them much of choice when he showed up here, packed bags and all.

“I guess it’s settled then,” Kuroo says helpfully and smacks his palms on his knees, immediately dispersing the uneasiness that was beginning to settle. “We have an extra room that we use for storage but you can stay there. Just don’t move or rearrange the old video games. Kenma gets really antsy about that.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

Oikawa’s laughter, soft and stifled with something he tries to hold back, breaks them out of their banter.

“Thank you. The both of you.”

He looks at them with earnest eyes, though his heart is wrought with envy.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kuroo tells him and moves to help Oikawa with his bags.

“I’ll get the room ready,” Kenma says and leaves to do a bit of housekeeping.

When Kuroo follows after Kenma, Oikawa calls out to him.

“Kuroo.”

The fragility with the way his name was uttered is evident to his keen ears. It takes him aback when he faces Oikawa and is met with steely eyes. Determination swims within his brown irises, set upon young features and hiding a vulnerability he tries so hard to conceal.

“I’ll fix it,” he tells him, eyes locking with Kuroo’s. “I’ll make it right with Iwa-chan and then I’ll get out of your hair. I promise.”

It comes out a little too fast, for fear that the crack in his voice becomes noticeable. Kuroo sure as hell hopes he will, if it’s bringing him this much misery.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he assures and smiles comfortingly. “I’m sure you will.”

Sleeping in an empty king-sized bed was unfamiliar enough, yet Oikawa finds himself less at ease in Kuroo’s and Kenma’s house. They had a cosy place and were perfect company, giving him the privacy that he needs, but he’s sorely reminded of how lonely he is at every corner.

He sees two pairs of room slippers pressed next to each other in the entranceway, some dirty dishes in the sink, a grocery list stuck to the refrigerator with a cat magnet (with the words ‘apple pie’ scribbled at the end in what is most definitely Kenma’s handwriting), two sets of toothbrushes facing each other in front of his reflection and the pictures decorating the shelf, not many but enough to make him crave the domesticity.

Oikawa lays wide awake on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to consume him. He thinks about Iwaizumi and wonders if he’s facing the same insomnia. He must be staying with that university friend of his, Hanamaki was it? It’s been some time since he moved out of their house, would he have grown accustomed to living without Oikawa?

Toying with the idea makes his heart clench. Instinct tells him it’s not true, because Iwaizumi does look sad when he talks about Oikawa. And he did admit that he stills loves him. But he had also said that it was complicated. It was something Oikawa had trouble wrapping his mind around. Iwaizumi loves him, and he loves Iwaizumi, what was so complicated about that?

Did Iwaizumi mean something else? That he no longer loves Oikawa as a husband, but only as a friend? After all, they were friends at the heart of it all. Oikawa bites his lip and wills himself not to pursue that thought. He was being paranoid.

Yet, it’s a constant struggle to feel as if you have two feet firmly on the ground when all you have are questions and not concrete answers, speculations and not facts.

He takes a long time to fall asleep that night.

* * *

_“This was a good idea,” Oikawa remarks as Iwaizumi brings two large blankets to the hood of their rented SUV where the setter was reclining._

_Iwaizumi climbs on top, pretty sure that the rental company would not approve, and drapes one around Oikawa’s shoulders and another onto himself. He burrows under the thick cotton and lays on his back, so that his field of view was blanketed entirely by black night and twinkling dots._

_“You could really use a break,” Iwaizumi says, shifting around to make himself comfortable against the cool metal._

_“Yes yes,” Oikawa patronizes. He’s in a good mood, so he doesn’t argue why that was necessary in the first place. Neither of them speak about the time when Oikawa overworked himself into a frenzy, almost blowing out his knee in the process._

_Oikawa follows suit, snuggling up to Iwaizumi who accommodates by pulling him into his chest and slinging an arm around his shoulder. The space is small, but neither of them mind, because it leaves little distance between their bodies. He inhales deeply, letting Iwaizumi’s natural scent fill his senses, overpowering the outdoorsy aroma of trees and dirt._

_A comfortable silence ensues as the both of them enjoy each other’s presence under the mantle of stars. It had been Iwaizumi’s idea to rent a car and drive out to the outskirts of Tokyo for a short getaway to the hot spring. They stopped along the long, winding road on the way there, Iwaizumi parking the Subaru Forester in an open space that overlooks the city. It’s filled with tiny balls of light, like a more intensified reflection of the sky above. It also puts things into perspective, to be looking from afar when most of the time you were caught in the hustle and bustle of it all._

_Oikawa didn’t know how much he needed this. Volleyball practice was gruelling to say the least, not only physically but mentally. He felt like he was trying to please and challenge everyone at the same time. He wanted to be liked and he wanted to be best. Unfortunately, they did not come hand in hand most of the time._

_Iwaizumi must have noticed how much he was pushing himself again, no matter how well Oikawa tried to hide it, for he suggested this trip out of the blue. And Oikawa was glad he did. The long, idyllic ride took his mind away from the ever-moving cogwheels of urban life, and lying next to each other under flickers of light at the edge of the road, wrapped and warm, did wonders for his nerves._

_Iwa-chan came up with the best ideas sometimes. Oikawa was determined not to let this go to waste. He was going to whole-heartedly enjoy this moment._

_And that was all he thought it was, a moment to admire the stars, until Iwaizumi breaks the silence._

_“Don’t fall asleep okay? You don’t want to miss the meteor shower.”_

_“The what?!” Oikawa exclaims, jerking up to stare wide-eyed at Iwaizumi with his mouth hanging slightly open._

_“The meteor shower,” Iwaizumi answers coolly even though Oikawa’s exclamation was a sharp pierce into the quiet night. He lifts a finger against his chin to close his mouth._

_“How did you know there was going to be one?” Oikawa presses, propping an elbow to hover above Iwaizumi._

_“Are you really that out of touch with the real world? It’s all over the news.”_

_“You should have told me,” he says with a pout._

_“I’m telling you now,” Iwaizumi remarks. To be honest, he didn’t tell Oikawa about the true purpose of this random stopover because he wanted it to be a surprise._

_“How long till the meteor shower?” Oikawa wonders out loud._

_Iwaizumi checks his watch before answering, “Four minutes.”_

_Oikawa hums in quiet delight and fits his knee between Iwaizumi’s legs, lowering himself to rest against his chest. In the comforting curve of Iwaizumi’s neck, Oikawa stares into the distance, where stars are captured in still clouds. He settles quickly into the familiar touch of Iwaizumi’s fingers tracing random patterns on the inside of his wrist._

_Time trickles by and Oikawa eventually murmurs into the dip of Iwaizumi’s collarbone, “Thanks for bringing me out here today Iwa-chan. It’s nice.”_

_“It’s nothing,” he says but squeezes Oikawa’s wrist ever so slightly._

_“It is something!” his husband counters and props himself up on his elbows again to pout at Iwaizumi. “Because Iwa-chan hardly brings me out on dates anymore.”_

_Iwaizumi takes a deliberate moment to study Oikawa’s face, pout as petulant as always but his heart tightens with an overwhelming affection for the one person who could make and break his world._

_“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says, eyes growing soft at the edges because he wants to give him everything he deserves and more. “I’ll take you out more often okay?”_

_For some reason, that makes Oikawa a little flustered, pout falling from his face and bottom lip disappearing between his teeth. Iwaizumi isn’t the only one who is seized with endless love and adoration when he looks at his partner. It’s moments like this, when Iwaizumi wears his heart on his sleeve and unabashedly bares his tenderness that Oikawa can’t believe that the person on the other end of his red string is Iwaizumi Hajime._

_“You should,” Oikawa says, pretending that the way Iwaizumi looks, sounds and feels underneath him isn’t affecting him as much as it is. “You can start by—”_

_“Tooru,” Iwaizumi cuts him off gently, eyes staring past Oikawa’s face. “Look.”_

_Oikawa turns with the tug of Iwaizumi’s hand on his shoulder and his words die in his throat._

_The first signs of the meteor shower are the fissures of light radiating from a single point in the night sky. In a split second, they erupt into streaks of light, shooting across the star-riddled sky. They travel fast and Oikawa finds himself holding his breath as he tries to hold every one of them in his eyes. He is enthralled by the way they burn, making their mark against Earth’s vast sky before vanishing into the dark, their ethereal grandeur preserved in Oikawa’s memory._

_Iwaizumi sneaks a glance at Oikawa, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smile when he sees his child-like amazement, the twinkle in his eyes matching the brightness of the stars. He pulls Oikawa down gently to lie on his back, their shoulders bumping. In his fascination with the celestial event, Oikawa doesn’t notice when Iwaizumi laces their fingers together._

_The meteor shower is breath-taking, Iwaizumi admits, but it doesn’t have the same effect on him as it has on Oikawa. As he focuses on Oikawa instead, the meteor shower only a scene in his peripheral vision, Iwaizumi is reminded of a time when they were kids and Oikawa loved space and its endless possibilities. A wave of nostalgia hits him and he remembers he was once afraid that Oikawa might be an astronaut, with his unwavering belief that there were aliens in the galaxy. So perhaps it’s a good thing that volleyball grounded Oikawa to him but Iwaizumi hadn’t known at the time that Oikawa would drift nonetheless._

_Iwaizumi turns his head and in a moment of impulsiveness, nuzzles his nose in Oikawa’s hair. He presses a kiss to his temple._

_“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes, eyes never leaving the marvel in the sky. “Are you watching?”_

_“Yeah,” Iwaizumi claims but barely pulls away. The way the dark sky is raining with flashes of light and speckled with stardust should leave him mesmerized, but it doesn’t._

_Because it doesn’t compare to the simple beauty of Oikawa’s profile, the sharp lines of his face, the fullness of his parted lips, the intensity of his russet eyes._

_“What if,” Oikawa whispers, as if his voice would chase the starlight away, “We could see this whenever we liked?”_

_“You’d want that?”_

_“It’d be nice,” he answers absentmindedly._

_Iwaizumi knows he can’t give him that, but he can offer him something else._

_“I’ll make it happen,” he says without thinking twice._

_It steals Oikawa’s attention and he meets Iwaizumi’s determined eyes. It makes him smile and laugh through his nose. “Silly Iwa-chan, you can’t just make meteor showers happen.”_

_“I’ll see what I can do,” he replies in a heartbeat and Oikawa is both amused and curious._

_Iwaizumi doesn’t seem like he was joking, judging by the way he holds Oikawa’s gaze and speaks with resolution. Oikawa plays along._

_“I’m looking forward to it then,” he smiles genuinely, the kind that makes Iwaizumi even more certain that he would go to the ends of the world for this man._

_On this quiet night, Iwaizumi makes a promise._

_Above them, the shooting stars were getting few and far between. Iwaizumi was content to simply lay there and enjoy each other’s presence, so he was surprised when Oikawa suddenly gets up to climb half on top of him. He lowers his head so that their noses are almost touching._

_“Thank you Iwa-chan,” he hums against his lips. “Of all the people in this world, including the aliens out there, I’m glad it’s you, Hajime.”_

_Iwaizumi feels his heart thrum against his ribcage at the whisper of his name and curves his fingers around Oikawa’s nape to pull him down for a searing kiss. Their lips fit together perfectly, parting in tandem for Iwaizumi to graze his tongue along the seam of Oikawa’s lip. Oikawa leans further into Iwaizumi, welcoming the warmth that he brings when he slips his tongue between his teeth. He swallows the small sound of pleasure that rises in Oikawa’s throat, relishing in the slippery heat of their tongues._

_His hands wander on their own accord, slipping beneath Oikawa’s shirt to run along his side. It makes him shiver, breaking the kiss to release a shuddering breath against Iwaizumi’s mouth. Iwaizumi refocuses his vision to see Oikawa’s dark eyes and red lips, and they do nothing to quell his longing for more. Just more of Oikawa._

_He catches his mouth again and dares to slide his hand up across Oikawa’s smooth skin, thumb skimming over a sensitive nipple. The gasp that escapes encourages him further and he circles the nub with the rough pad of his thumb. Oikawa digs his fingers into his shoulder as cold skin meets the buzzing heat of his and unknowingly presses more deeply into Iwaizumi’s hips._

_Oikawa almost whimpers when Iwaizumi abandons his ministrations to sneak a hand under his waistband, smoothing it over his ass before sliding it between their hips to palm him through the fabric of his underwear. Oikawa’s breath hitches, and even in their giddy desire, he is conscious of where they were, empty as it may be._

_“Like this?” Oikawa asks tentatively, voice raspy and blush rising high on his cheeks._

_Iwaizumi takes a second to process the question and wastes no time in wrapping the blanket snugly around Oikawa and tugging him against his chest, one arm hooking under the back of Oikawa’s legs and another supporting his back. He slides down the hood with Oikawa in his arms, the setter laughing as Iwaizumi holds him securely._

_Oikawa doesn’t wait for them to properly enter the SUV before planting kisses all over Iwaizumi’s face, hanging on to him like his life depended on it._

_On this quiet night, they make love in an old, rented SUV, swathed in scattered stars and starlit skies._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was clear that Iwaizumi made the promise to himself, and not to Oikawa. Which was why he didn’t want to answer Oikawa’s question in Mokkoya.


	7. Somewhere Only We (You) Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start, let’s just pretend turmeric is not a commonly known remedy okay? Oh, and introducing another Seijoh character!

The moment Oikawa heads out of the kitchen in Kara Café, he spots Iwaizumi making his way to his usual seat, mobile phone in one hand and laptop in another. He barely contains the squeak of delight before wiping his hands on his apron and pushing past the swinging half-door to join Iwaizumi at his table.

At this point, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi have witnessed Oikawa abandoning his work to chat Iwaizumi up enough times to even think it’s weird anymore. So they leave him be. (Though he should be careful; the café employees are one of the few people to know that Iwaizumi’s attached since he had revealed that he visits the café so often to wait for his partner.)

“Hey you,” Oikawa greets with a pleasant smile, pulling up a chair across Iwaizumi.

The teacher looks up at the sound of a voice that manages to effortlessly draw his attention every time.

“Oh.”

From this close, Iwaizumi thought he looks a little bit worse for wear, with the eye bags hiding behind his glasses. He doesn’t bring it up.

Ever since Oikawa transformed into his 21-year-old self, he has hated the weekends. They were boring and lonely, with the exception of the few times he crashed some beach volleyball games. But without Iwa-chan and volleyball practice, the two things that grounded him in life, Oikawa couldn’t wait for the dreary weekends to pass him by. He missed being able to see Iwaizumi every day, and even on days when they did nothing but stayed by each other, Oikawa took comfort in his presence.

Which was why he loves Mondays now; he gets to see Iwaizumi in the morning and once again when he visits the café. Oikawa is glad there was something to look forward to and Iwaizumi makes that very easy.

Falling into a conversation becomes effortless now and Oikawa intends to enquire about the progress of the gazebo.

That is until he’s distracted by Iwaizumi’s hands, band-aids decorating his skin and wrapped around coarse fingers.

“What happened?” Oikawa questions without preamble, resisting the urge to hold Iwaizumi’s wounded hands into his strong ones. He couldn’t help the way concern is evident in his voice though.

His gaze darts from Iwaizumi’s fingers to his face and the twinge of embarrassment doesn’t go unnoticed by his keen eyes. The university teacher sub-consciously curls his fingers into his palms, apparently embarrassed over however he acquired such cuts and scratches in the first place.

“Uhh,” Iwaizumi hesitates and conceals his hands from Oikawa’s prying eyes by rummaging through his bag for his materials and laying them across the table.

He may be reluctant to disclose whatever mortifying reason it is, but Oikawa has a rough idea.

“Did you get them from building the gazebo?”

He had tried to keep his voice from assuming a chiding tone, but couldn’t quite manage it. Iwaizumi slants his eyes away and that alone answers Oikawa’s question. He sighs through his nose.

(Oikawa used to tease Iwaizumi about acting like his mum, but it’s funny how he is guilty of that as well.)

“How did you get them?” he probes.

Iwaizumi finally meets Oikawa’s inquisitive eyes and admits, “I had some difficulty with laying the foundation. I didn’t know it was going to be that hard."

If Oikawa wasn’t preoccupied with fussing over Iwaizumi, he would have teased him about getting so sheepish and vaguely defensive about having some trouble with building a gazebo. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about; nobody would know how to build an outdoor feature, something that requires some background knowledge and expertise, on their first try. So if Iwaizumi actually managed to lay the foundation right, he deserves a pat on the back for accomplishing such a feat as a first-timer.

“Didn’t you have help?” Oikawa asks. He doesn’t want Iwaizumi to turn up with even more band-aids littering his tawny skin the next time he sees him.

“Yeah, but my friend doesn’t know anything about building anything like this as well.”

He leaves out the part where Hanamaki only joined him towards the end of the day, _after_ he had already hurt himself enough to finally do it the right way.

“That’s comforting,” Oikawa replies with mild sarcasm.

“They’re just superficial cuts,” Iwaizumi explains, wriggling his fingers as if to prove his point. “And I’ve gotten the hang of it anyway.”

Oikawa scrunches his eyebrows but decides to leave it as that. Any more and Iwaizumi would most likely feel creeped out about his over-attentiveness.

“Well, have you tried using turmeric?” Oikawa asks him. “It can heal minor wounds you know?”

“Turmeric?” Iwaizumi repeats, not because he doesn’t know what it is, but because he isn’t sure he heard Oikawa correctly. He knows of the remedy that Oikawa mentioned, it’s just that it was a home remedy special to the Iwaizumi family, or at least that’s what he thought.

“Yeap,” he says and starts to explain. “Just mix some turmeric with linseed oil to form a paste. Then apply it on your wounds two to three times a day. Apparently it helps with reducing pain and preventing infection.”

Iwaizumi has his head slightly tilted and eyebrows knitted together, emphasising his bemused stare. But Oikawa doesn’t notice.

“Did you know?” he rambles. “You can mix some turmeric powder with a glass of hot milk and drink it before going to bed. But I’ve never tried that after the first time. It tastes awful.”

He blinks once dramatically as if recounting the incident actually puts the unpleasant taste in his mouth. When Iwaizumi keeps silent, offering the expression of bewilderment as his only response, Oikawa says, “What?”

“How did you know about that?” Iwaizumi wonders. “About turmeric being a remedy for cuts?”

Oikawa is on the verge of answering him but stops short when he realizes that the answer would be, _“Because my mother-in-law used to make that for us when we were kids and often came home with cuts and bruises from playing outside.”_

It had been a remedy that stuck with him for so long it just seemed natural to advise Iwaizumi when he saw the band-aids on his hands, having cleanly forgotten that it was not one that most people were well-acquainted with. Oikawa must have noticed how Iwaizumi was eyeing him suspiciously, because that deer-in-the-headlights look he was sporting seemed like an odd response for a harmless question.

He stumbles to answer and curses his difficulty in playing it cool now of all times, “Ah…it’s common knowledge isn’t it?”

He makes a mindless gesture with his hand and avoids looking straight at Iwaizumi, lest he sees right through his blatant lie. Iwaizumi always seem to have that uncanny ability when it comes to him.

“From mothers and grandmothers?” he finishes weakly.

Peeking at Iwaizumi, Oikawa breathes a sigh of relief internally when he merely flashes him a sceptical look and says (though not without the hint of doubt), “I suppose…”

The bespectacled student takes the opportunity to steer the conversation away from something that might further Iwaizumi’s disbelief. Thinking on his feet, he exploits whatever materials he has, which happen to be the sheets of papers strewn in front of Iwaizumi, familiar names written on the corners.

“Are those last week’s test papers?” he inquires, an attempt at changing the topic turning into sincere interest.

“Huh?” Iwaizumi starts, successfully distracted and looks down at the papers he was about to continue grading before Oikawa approached him. “Oh, yeah.”

Remembering that the tests were supposed to be confidential and catching Oikawa’s wandering eyes, Iwaizumi hastily gathers the papers into a messy pile and flips them over.

“Aww, Iwa-sensei,” Oikawa pouts. “Why so secretive? It’s not like I can change my answers anyway.”

“You’re still not allowed to peek,” Iwaizumi retorts, guarding the papers with a glower.

“What’s my score then?” Oikawa pries, resting his elbow on the table and leaning into Iwaizumi’s space.

“I haven’t got to yours yet,” was his honest answer. He frowns at the apparent confidence on Oikawa’s youthful features, wondering where it came from considering the test’s difficulty and the less-than-stellar grades he had been awarding so far.

With a flick of his perfectly curled hair, Oikawa declares, “I’ve got nothing to worry about so neither do you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Oikawa shrugs, acting coy.

“Because I’m your best student,” he teases and winks.

“Stop flirting with the customer and get back to work Ohara-kun,” comes Sugawara’s sweet yet threatening voice as he places Iwaizumi’s long black on the table. He smiles pleasantly at his regular customer but when he turns and smiles the same smile at Oikawa, he manages to make it ooze with intimidation.

“Yes boss,” Oikawa responds humorously and slinks out of his chair to head back to the counter, but not before bestowing Iwaizumi a dashing smile.

* * *

To Iwaizumi’s initial surprise, Oikawa did indeed perform well on the test. Then again, he wasn’t entirely wrong when he claimed to be his best student. So Iwaizumi should’ve expected it.

When he had released the test scores to his students, he could see the disappointment seeping onto their faces one by one, with the exception of a handful. Oikawa was one such student and Iwaizumi had made the mistake of making eye contact. He held his gaze with a pompous glint as if he was just waiting for Iwaizumi to look his way just so he can tell him with those russet eyes of his that he told him so. Iwaizumi had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and for some reason, had to bite back a smirk as well. That cheeky bastard.

Clearing his throat, Iwaizumi attempted to liven their spirits by revealing that the semester tests were usually more challenging than the final year papers, subtly telling them that their cumulative grades could still be improved. That seemed to do the trick for most of them.

He carries out his lesson without a hitch, taking note of the students who had lingering disappointment apparent on their faces. Oikawa was a whole different story though, smile constantly plastered on his face that Iwaizumi wonders how his cheeks haven’t started going sore yet. He also wonders if Oikawa’s deliberately packing his stuff like a sloth just so he’d be the last student in the classroom at the end of the lesson. Iwaizumi decides he could spare a few moments to humour him.

“Good job on the test,” he praises and unsurprisingly, Oikawa instantly perks up and starts shoving his belongings into his bag to shuffle over.

“I told you right?” he says animatedly. “That I had nothing to worry about and neither did you.”

“Yeah yeah,” Iwaizumi admits. He’s more interested in knowing where Oikawa got all this confidence from. Something tells him it’s not from personality alone. “Why were you so sure though? Got some tricks up your sleeve?”

“If you’re implying that I cheated then I’m sorry Iwa-sensei, but you couldn’t have been further from the truth,” he says all smug and certain. “But if you must know, it’s because I have a secret technique.”

“What secret technique?”

“It’s called,” Oikawa starts and pauses for dramatic effect. “The method of loci. Or simply a memory palace.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth parts into an ‘o’ in recognition. He’s more than familiar with those terms, teaching the concept to his students, especially those who had trouble with memorization. He remembers having the same problem when he was in high school and the syllabus was getting tougher by the year.

His grades were alright, but he wasn’t a brilliant student. The moment his grades started slipping in the beginning of his second year and he was too afraid of having to attend remedial classes (which meant no volleyball practice), Iwaizumi had scoured for any way to pull up his scores. And watching one of those detective shows had introduced him to something called a memory palace. Since then, he had been using it, proving its effectiveness in helping him to slot the facts and figures into a familiar place.

_(His memory palace took the form of his old home in Miyagi, where he had spent and left with his best friend.)_

Oikawa had better luck with his studies than he did, but university commitments had taken its toll on him, with his position on the national volleyball team an exacerbating factor. When Oikawa’s complaints about his studies were getting more frequent, Iwaizumi had taught him the method and was thus crowned as his saviour once again.

_(Oikawa’s memory palace was their high school, where nervous confessions were uttered and bolder steps were taken.)_

How odd, that he finds yet another resemblance with a certain someone.

“What’s your memory palace?” Iwaizumi asks, interest piqued.

“A—” Oikawa begins, eyes growing wide at the sinking realization that he cannot possibly say ‘Aoba Johsai’. He’s tempted to bite his tongue off to prevent any more of these blunders. In his haste, he exclaims, “Asakusa Temple!”

Iwaizumi quirks his eyebrow and remarks, “I feel like there’s a story there.”

“Um, that’s a story to tell for another time,” Oikawa evades and does what he’s been doing rather often recently: changing topics. “Anyway, I can’t say that it helps for my other class, Sawamura-sensei’s. Somehow, I just keep getting everything mixed up.”

More accurately, Oikawa simply didn’t put in as much effort for Sawamura’s class. There were things he’d rather forget, and Sawamura’s class only helped to resurface those memories.

“Fundamentals in sports injuries?” Iwaizumi says rhetorically. He used to cover that class before the school hired Sawamura and they’ve been pretty close since, gym buddies in fact.

Oikawa nods, leaning his backside against the desk with his fingers drumming over the edge. He tilts his head at Iwaizumi, eyes flickering with practiced charm.

“Any tips?”

To his mild surprise, Iwaizumi actually ponders over his question for a moment but eventually folds his arms in front of his chest and tells him, “For now, don’t be late for your next class.”

When Oikawa musters a fake pout, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes (though not accompanied by a betraying smirk) and says, more sternly this time, “Go.”

* * *

The couple of odd incidences with Ohara somehow planted themselves in Iwaizumi’s mind and he finds himself recalling them as he speed-reads through some website on woodworking that evening. How peculiar was it that someone who bears so much resemblance to Tooru was right in his class? And at such weird timing? It feels as if Tooru was so close yet so far. It’s a little unnerving actually.

With his attention drifting away from the website, Iwaizumi turns to face his university friend and temporary roommate, Hanamaki, who was lounging on his couch and browsing through his phone even though the TV was switched on. He knows Hanamaki wouldn’t have any answers for him, but Iwaizumi just needed to get this off his chest.

“Hey Hanamaki,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Hm?” he responds, tilting his chin in Iwaizumi’s general direction but eyes still glued to his screen.

“Did you know that turmeric mixed with linseed oil could heal minor wounds?” he asks without providing any context.

“What mixed with what?” Hanamaki asks, voice lilting.

“Turmeric and linseed oil,” Iwaizumi repeats patiently.

“What the hell is turmeric?” Hanamaki says, finally breaking his attention away from his phone to give his friend a questioning stare. “Or linseed oil?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

Hanamaki doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi’s eyes drop to the floor, his expression settling into one of thoughtfulness. He lowers his phone and sits upright against the armrest, intrigued.

“What, are you into some occult-medicine stuff right now?” he jokes.

“There’s nothing occult about it,” Iwaizumi explains dryly. “It’s a home remedy for treating superficial wounds.”

“Uh-huh…” Hanamaki trails off, staring at Iwaizumi from the corner of his eyes like he’s waiting for the part where he actually starts explaining.

“My mum taught it to me when I used to get a lot cuts and scrapes while I was younger,” he continues. “I think my grandmother passed it down to her.”

“So it’s like an Iwaizumi household thing?”

“I guess so…”

“Then I wouldn’t know anything about it,” Hanamaki points out. “And even if it’s just some really obscure remedy, it’s not like I Google about this sort of stuff.”

“He doesn’t look like he does…” Iwaizumi says under his breath.

“Who?”

“Never mind,” he shakes his head and adds, “Hanamaki, have you heard of the method of loci?”

“The what?”

“Method of loci. It’s a memory technique.”

When Hanamaki stares back at him unblinkingly, Iwaizumi says succinctly, “Memory palace.”

“Ohhhh,” he lets out dramatically, like it was an epiphany. “That I know. Why’d you have to use jargon sheesh.”

Instead of receiving a retort as he would expect, Hanamaki is greeted with Iwaizumi’s signature frown, if only a little toned down. He looks as if something was bothering him.

“What’s up with the questions anyway?” he probes.

Iwaizumi doesn’t reply immediately. He takes his time, green eyes rolling to the side as he dwells over whatever’s putting that frown on his face, before inhaling a sharp breath and looking right at Hanamaki, whose curiosity was heightening with every hesitant action Iwaizumi makes. And that was unusual, because Iwaizumi was one of the most decisive people he knows.

“I have this student…” he begins but lets it hang there, debating if it was a good idea to confide to his friend the uncanny similarities of his student and soon-to-be ex-husband. When he puts it like that…

“Yeah? And…?” Hanamaki interjects, the eagerness in his voice pushing Iwaizumi to spill.

“He knew about the turmeric remedy. And the memory palace; that it’s really called the method of loci,” Iwaizumi finds he cannot stop talking once he starts. God, he really needed to get this off his chest. “It probably doesn’t sound weird when I say it like that, but the remedy was something my mother taught Oikawa and me when we were kids. And the memory palace was a technique I taught Oikawa when he wasn’t doing so well in university. And this student…he just _knows_ them.”

All this while, Hanamaki was watching Iwaizumi intently, his mind struggling to make the connections Iwaizumi seemed to be conjuring in his brain. The dark-haired man acknowledges the strange look his friend was throwing his way but he ploughs through his rant anyway.

“That’s not even the worst part,” he says a little heatedly. “He looks so much like Tooru, at least when he was younger and oh. Did I mention that they also share the same name? They’re just—too similar. It’s like there’s two versions of him. But that’d be crazy right? Tell me I’m not crazy.”

In contrast to Iwaizumi’s frenzy, Hanamaki closes his eyes like he’s about to deliver some sage advice to a troubled soul.

“If you carry on thinking like that, you are most definitely going crazy,” he says bluntly.

Iwaizumi groans, wondering why he chose to embarrass himself like that. Of course there can’t be two Toorus. What kind of warped idea was he entertaining? It’s just not humanly possible. He can’t believe he said those out loud.

Hanamaki pats him reassuringly on the shoulder and suddenly gives it a hard smack, making Iwaizumi jump, “You know what you need?”

“What?”

“A new man.”

He knows it was ridiculous to even imagine that there could be two versions of Tooru but Hanamaki must be equally ridiculous for making such a comment.

“I’m still married you idiot,” he declares, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

“You won’t be in three weeks’ time,” Hanamaki points out. “Might as well get a head start.”

“Head start in what?” Iwaizumi asks, making sure to bring across how outrageous he thought Hanamaki’s comment was.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs in mock ignorance. “Getting laid?”

“I am not getting laid,” Iwaizumi scolds instantly, growing more scandalized as Hanamaki talked. He has half a mind to admonish him for saying such inappropriate things.

“Clearly,” he jibes, scoffing through his nose. When Iwaizumi glares daggers at him, Hanamaki puts his hands up in surrender but doesn’t let the conversation end there, convinced that Iwaizumi just needed a push in the right direction (though Iwaizumi would argue that point). “Okay okay, at least go out on a date or something. Meet new people! God knows you’ve been stewing in angst over Oikawa this past month.”

“I’m not—”

Hanamaki doesn’t even need to interrupt him to cut him off. Iwaizumi managed that by realizing his friend wasn’t wrong and Hanamaki’s arched eyebrow reinforced that. It embarrassed him to admit that he had indeed been sullen and concerned about Oikawa, especially after he packed his bags to Kyushu. And in all honesty, he just wanted to see him; make sure he’s okay.

“Fine, so maybe—”

“Great!” Hanamaki really interrupts this time, flipping out his phone to scroll through his contact list. “I know this guy…”

“I didn’t mean—!” Iwaizumi snaps instantly, surging forward to wrestle Hanamaki’s phone away. But the guy was faster, pulling it out of Iwaizumi’s reach and using his free hand to keep him at bay. “Hanamaki don’t you dare.”

“Relax Iwaizumi,” he says, locking his phone once he was done and giving him a frivolous smile. “Sometimes you need let go before you can acquire something better.”

It leaves Iwaizumi speechless, because how the hell was he supposed to respond to that? You don’t say shit like that for people who was your best friend for twenty over years and who’s going to be your ex-husband in a matter of weeks. Although he was letting go of his relationship with Oikawa, he had absolutely no intention of finding someone new. Not now, not after they’re divorced, not even ten years later when Oikawa himself is probably living his life with someone better.

Before he can confront Hanamaki though, he’s already heading to his room, bidding Iwaizumi goodbye with a big yawn.

If Hanamaki did anything funny, Iwaizumi is going to kill him.

* * *

Iwaizumi is going to kill Hanamaki.

That walking meme had really gone and set him up with “this guy” without giving him any details, and Iwaizumi only knew now because “this guy” was currently waiting outside the café, fully expecting a date. It startled the hell out of Iwaizumi, who thought today was just going to be another day when he whiles his time away in the café. Instead, he’s met with a dark-haired stranger who awkwardly asks him if he’s Iwaizumi Hajime, cordially tells him that he’s Hanamaki’s friend and was simply told to wait outside this café at this time.

Iwaizumi feels the muscles in his face twitching, wondering if the expression he made was one of astonishment (at the guy’s abrupt presence) or annoyance (at Hanamaki’s meddling hands). Maybe it was both. He must have looked odd.

The guy, Iwaizumi did not catch his name, had subtly offered to have their date in the café, realizing that he must frequent this place if Hanamaki told him that Iwaizumi “will be there” and well, here he was. He thought he was making it easier for them, but he managed to do the complete opposite. Which was the reason why Iwaizumi fumbles as he tells him that the café would not be a suitable place and buys time by getting his coffee to-go so that he can think of a way to kindly turn him down as he waits outside the café.

It’s not like he was bad-looking or creepy. He was tall, dark-haired and had an awkward but gentle smile and Iwaizumi would say he was pretty attractive if he had to judge. But no. This wasn’t right.

He is really going to kill Hanamaki.

“Long black,” he recites his usual order with a sigh to Yamaguchi, who was manning the cashier. “To-go,” he remembers to add.

“Oh, you’re not staying at the café today Iwaizumi-san?” Yamaguchi asks curiously as he keys in the order.

Before Iwaizumi can provide a reluctant reply, Tsukishima says (knowingly as always), “A date.”

“Uhh…” Iwaizumi stammers. He tries to step into Tsukishima’s view as he stares uninterestedly at the guy outside the café, but alas, Tsukishima was freakishly tall.

“WHAT?!” comes a voice from the far left and Oikawa zips into view, astonishment evident on his features. “Iwa-sensei, you’re going on a date?”

“It’s not a—” he starts, but Oikawa was following Tsukishima’s gaze to spot Iwaizumi’s not-date and his eyes grow as wide as saucers, mouth hanging open in shock. Iwaizumi’s not sure if he was really that stunned or was just exaggerating.

“Is it that guy out there?” he barrages, tip-toeing and leaning over the counter to get a better look, not like it helped. “ _That_ guy? _Really_?”

The university teacher didn’t appreciate the tone Oikawa used. Admittedly, the guy was dorkily standing by himself with his hands shoved into his pockets, but there was no need to speak like that. Sure enough, when he glares at Oikawa, there is distaste in the way he wrinkles his nose.

“I’m saying it’s not a—” he tries again and fails again.

“How could you?” Oikawa interrupts and Iwaizumi was getting increasingly riled by his judgemental tone. The student pulls on Iwaizumi’s sleeve over the counter to drag him away from his colleagues’ earshot to fiercely whisper, “You’re a married man!”

Iwaizumi’s vein throbs in his temple. Exasperatedly, he snaps, “It’s not what you think it is! My friend set me up and I’m going to—why the hell am I even explaining myself to you?”

He fucking knows he’s a married man. He didn’t need some kid to tell him that. He’s fully aware of the implications of his actions and as long as he knows he’s doing right by himself, there was no need to prove it.

“Your long black,” Tsukishima says and pushes the cup towards Iwaizumi, his detached voice effectively dissipating the tension in the air.

“Thanks,” he murmurs and pays. Unfortunately, Oikawa refuses to drop it.

“Iwa-sensei, you can’t go on a date with him!” he frets, anxiety inching into his voice for a reason only he knows. When Iwaizumi looks like he’s prepared to leave anytime, paying little heed to Oikawa’s imploration, the student utters the first thing he can think of, which in retrospect isn’t the most appropriate response, “He’s not even your type!”

“You don’t even know what my type is,” Iwaizumi points out, unwilling to further this inane conversation. Besides, he’s got a date to reject. “And don’t poke your nose into my private life.”

He snatches his coffee off the counter and stalks off, leaving Oikawa in the wake of his ire.

Oikawa cannot peel his eyes away from them, Iwaizumi saying something to which the guy nods, until they walk out of sight.

“Didn’t know you’re into older men,” he hears Tsukishima say passively, barely keeping the suggestiveness at bay.

Oikawa whips his head to his co-worker with a blush darkening on his face, embarrassed to be called out. “I-I’m not!”

“Ohara-kun, it’s okay to like older men,” Yamaguchi tells him candidly, and Oikawa wishes he wouldn’t open his sentence like that. “But be careful. You know Iwaizumi-san is attached.”

As much as Oikawa wants to retort to protect Ohara’s reputation, he finds himself at a loss for words. Because yes, Iwaizumi is attached (read: married). To him.

“Does it really matter?”

It’s Tsukishima who asks that, to both Oikawa’s and Yamaguchi’s surprise.

“His partner’s hardly with him anyway,” he adds as-a-matter-of-factly.

“Tsukki…” Yamaguchi whispers. It’s uttered like a slight warning, but Oikawa senses the layer of agreement in his voice. The initial surprise vanishes from his face, replaced by disturbed confusion.

“What do you mean?” he demands, not very successful in keeping his tone neutral.

Tsukishima quirks an eyebrow at him and answers after a pause, “All this time we’ve seen Iwaizumi-san waiting for his phantom boyfriend but we’ve never actually seen him. And from what he says, it’s not because he doesn’t want others to meet him.”

Turning away from his co-workers, Tsukishima reaches up to the cabinet to restock the chocolate syrup. He continues with a shrug (but Oikawa soon finds out he has hit the nail on the head), “He doesn’t want to be seen. And more often than not, he makes him wait for hours, even standing him up.”

“Maybe that’s just the way they are,” Yamaguchi offers softly and the fact that he has to rely on someone else to defend him leaves a bitter taste in Oikawa’s mouth.

“Yamaguchi, have you seen his face sometimes?” Tsukishima asks. “When he has to wait and waits in vain?”

Until now, Oikawa had no idea a rhetorical question could hit so close to home. It takes a lot of willpower not to stand up for himself but there was nothing he could say to rid him of the mistakes he made. He knew he has made Iwaizumi wait for him on multiple occasions…he just didn’t think too much of it. Iwaizumi did complain a few times, but he was all bark and no bite. When all is said and done, he simply waited without fail and never once faulted Oikawa for it.

He didn’t want to imagine what kind of face Iwaizumi made. And to hear this from an outsider made the guilt bubble up his stomach, gnawing at him. Oikawa could live with it if Iwaizumi was infuriated or annoyed or frustrated. He just couldn’t stand it if he was sad, because Iwaizumi was always angry at him but he was hardly ever sad, and to know that he had made him feel this way not only once was crushing.

“I have…” Yamaguchi says pitifully.

It’s ironic really, because normally, Oikawa would lash out at the slightest hint of pity directed at his prideful self but this time, he’s rendered powerless by his own shame.

Tsukishima, having noticed Oikawa’s sudden quietness, detects the gloominess in the air, though why this fact would elicit such a response from him is beyond his understanding. Sighing internally, he tries to change the mood, not because he cares, but because he was the one who made it like this in the first place.

“Though I suppose you’re right,” he casually says to Oikawa. “That guy doesn’t look like his type.”

“What’s his type then?” a fourth voice asks.

“Suga-san!” Yamaguchi squeaks, conscious of the fact they got caught chatting about _types_ during work. “We were just—”

“It’s fine. There isn’t a line,” Sugawara waves a dismissive hand and faces the one who concurred that whoever was here was not Iwaizumi’s type. “Tsukishima?”

“How would I know?” he says and fixes his glasses. “Ask Ohara. He seems to have a good idea.”

Caught off guard, Oikawa stammers, “I-I don’t know! Just…not that guy.”

Sugawara’s appearance distracted Oikawa enough to push to the guilt to the back of his mind, letting it dampen from a constant sting to a dull ache.

“Hmmm,” Sugawara hums thoughtfully and offers his two cents. “You know what I think? I think…his type is somebody he can take care of.”

Oikawa’s lips part into a small ‘o’, looking at Sugawara and wondering what other truth he could unveil. What’s up with people telling him things that are right under his nose? He did like to be taken care of; in fact, he relished in the attention Iwaizumi showers him with, whether it was to scold him, nag at him or love him. And Iwaizumi does it so well.

“He’s got this nurturing and protective vibe and the tough-love act kinda suits him right?” Sugawara continues. Yamaguchi nods animatedly and even Tsukishima doesn’t disagree. “I mean, look at the way he treats his job so seriously. And the way he’s so reserved about his boyfriend? I think he’s protecting him more than anything. He mentioned he was a famous national sportsman right? Must be tough if your love life was always in the spotlight.”

“Iwaizumi-san’s boyfriend must be really lucky,” Yamaguchi muses. The fact that he was going to be his _ex_ -boyfriend (read: ex-husband) was like a punch to Oikawa’s gut. “What about you Suga-san? What’s your type?”

“Me?” Sugawara taps a slender finger to his chin, contemplating on Yamaguchi’s question. “I guess I like someone who’s strong, responsible…patient.”

With a slight smirk and a cheeky glint in his eyes, he adds, “You don’t get to ask a question without answering it Yamaguchi.”

A blush creeps up the boy’s cheeks, painting the spaces between his freckles a light pink. Barely glancing at Tsukishima nervously, Yamaguchi darts his eyes away and says shyly, “Um…someone who’s smart…and really cool.”

“Tsukishima?” Sugawara calls. Yamaguchi looks as if his heart stopped beating for a second, until he realizes that Sugawara was directing the same question at his other employee. Oikawa swears their boss did that on purpose.

“What?” he keeps his voice level but Oikawa can tell he was a little taken aback.

“What’s yours?”

Either the blonde did not catch the knowing smile playing at the corner of Sugawara’s lips or he was just that good at pretending. He looks down at him and plainly says, “I don’t have one.”

“Oh come on,” he taunts lightly. “Everyone has a type. Spill.”

Tsukishima briefly hides his eyes behind his hands as he adjusts his glasses. “Someone hard-working I guess…”

Any doubt over the reciprocity of whatever’s going on between his co-workers is subdued in Oikawa’s mind. Now that the case is closed, the only question that remains is how long they’d take to take the next step. Oikawa finds this oddly familiar.

Sugawara chuckles. “And what about you Ohara-kun?”

Oikawa feels a little uncomfortable with all three pairs of eyes staring at him as he wracks his brain for another fabrication to spin. Then again…he doesn’t have to lie, does he? None of them would know it’s Oikawa Tooru speaking; after all, they’ve never met him before.

“Someone dependable,” Oikawa starts, relieved that he can put his façade down this one time. “Someone who knows how to make everything okay.”

He can’t help the smile that forms on his lips when he thinks about Iwaizumi’s unwavering support. There were too many incidents to recall and Oikawa only remembers the way it feels to have his pillar of strength, steadfast and undeniably there.

“Someone who knows me like we’ve shared lifetimes together,” he continues, russet eyes unfocused, his co-workers just figures in the background. “Someone who makes me better, who knows all my flaws and insecurities and accepts me anyway.”

In the silence that ensues, Oikawa is aware of how he had bared his innermost feelings to a bunch of strangers who are at best, acquaintances. He is however mildly comforted by the lack of judgement from them (except maybe Tsukishima, who was giving him that _look_ ). Fortunately, someone breaks the silence.

“Sounds like you already found someone like that,” Sugawara tells him with a gentle smile. As he walks back to the kitchen and Yamaguchi scrambles to take a new customer’s order and Tsukishima goes off to prepare the drip, Oikawa feels heat crawling up his neck.

* * *

_The squeaks of rubber soles and distinct slam of leather against wood tell Iwaizumi what he needs to know. He’ll bet that when he opens those gym doors, he’ll see Oikawa practicing intently, so focused until he has forgotten the time. Iwaizumi would know, because for the past few hours, he had been waiting in the café for Oikawa to text or call him and say he’s ready to go._

_But Iwaizumi had waited till the sun went down and till he felt the embarrassment emanating from his lonesome figure as the trickle of customers left the café emptier and emptier. He figured he’d waited long enough and if Oikawa wouldn’t meet him halfway, then he’d go to where he was and drag him out of there if he had to._

_Iwaizumi pushed open the doors of the only occupied gym, the noise he made drowned out by the sudden slam of a particularly hard serve. Sure enough, there Oikawa was, picking up a stray ball to start serving again._

_“What the hell Tooru,” Iwaizumi loudly calls as he steps towards his husband. “I was waiting for hours!”_

_His voice comes out clipped even though he told himself he would control his temper. But he didn’t need another reminder when his raised voice was met with silence. Oikawa continues to serve, going through the motion automatically, as if he hadn’t heard Iwaizumi at all. But that isn’t right, because Oikawa couldn’t have not heard him when he was almost shouting. Iwaizumi senses something is amiss._

_Approaching Oikawa, Iwaizumi calls out again. “It’s already past eight. Let’s go home.”_

_Still, Oikawa continues._

_Sighing, Iwaizumi drops his bag to the floor and strides towards the setter. He waits until he has jumped in the air, reddening palm hitting the ball and sending it striking against the hardwood floor with a resounding slam, to grab him by the elbow._

_“Tooru, that’s enough practice for today,” he tells him chidingly. He expects Oikawa to comply (though with some reluctance); he looked weary enough from practice and post-practice as it is. But Oikawa surprises him by jerking his elbow out of Iwaizumi’s grip with a little more force than necessary._

_“Just give me a while more please,” he murmurs, voice straining at the last word._

_He doesn’t spare Iwaizumi a glance._

_With his eyes trained to the front, he picks up another stray ball and repeats the motion._

_Iwaizumi is too taken aback by Oikawa’s detachment to say anything, let alone scold him. He lets his hand hang uselessly at his side, Oikawa’s aloofness like a punch to his gut. The next serve sends the ball out of bounds and the sound cuts through the stale air deafeningly, making Iwaizumi wince._

_He hears Oikawa curse under his breath, watching him stalk off to grab the ball balancing on the white line of the court. Iwaizumi’s eyes follow Oikawa, whose eyes are tenacious but Iwaizumi can feel the fatigue rolling off his shoulders in waves._

_When Oikawa returns to the middle of the court to start serving again, Iwaizumi finally takes a good look around them. The court is littered with volleyballs, blue and yellow and red and green. Most of them are scattered around the other side of the net, some of them having rolled out of the confines of the white lines. On his side, there are a few stray ones and it doesn’t take much to guess that the ball cart is empty._

_He recognizes this._

_It bears a striking resemblance to a time in their junior high days; a rather difficult time for the both of them, especially Oikawa._

_The setter knew he had gotten this far in volleyball because of hard work more than pure talent. So when someone who could accomplish twice as much with half the effort based on talent alone joined their junior high school team, Oikawa pushed himself four times as hard. To keep his position, he did everything he could and then more. And where Oikawa almost lost himself, Iwaizumi reeled him back, kept him in check until Oikawa’s desperation pushed him over the edge, almost blowing out his knee permanently._

_He had put up a strong front in front of the doctor and his parents but the moment he was alone with Iwaizumi, he abandoned his façade and laid out his insecurities. Iwaizumi remembers the way he cried, not the bawls he was familiar with, but the repressed sobs choking out from the back of his throat, the tears staining his sleeve as Oikawa bowed his head against his shoulder, the timid curl of his fingers in the hem of his shirt. He never wanted Oikawa to make that face again. He had scolded him and made him see what was wrong, but he had also spoke to him gently and pieced him back with promises he meant to keep._

_Maybe it was then that Oikawa fell in love with his best friend. He didn’t know for sure but it didn’t matter anyway because with Iwaizumi there with him, he felt invincible._

_With the whole incident, Iwaizumi knew it wasn’t his fault and a more mellowed Oikawa assured him of that, but he always felt there was something more he could have done. He tells himself now that he would not let history repeat itself._

_Yet before he can say anything, exhaustion eventually catches up to the setter and Oikawa misses a serve, landing on his foot the wrong way and falling to the ground gracelessly. A jolt of pain shoots through his weaker knee and he cries out in agony, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutches his brace until his knuckles go white._

_Iwaizumi is kneeling beside him in an instant, gently prying Oikawa’s fingers away but they maintain a vice grip on his knee, where pain coils underneath the fabric of his brace._

_“Let me see,” he tells him firmly and hopes to god it’s not as bad as it seems. Oikawa shakes his head stubbornly. Iwaizumi notices the wet corners of his eyes and how his breath hitches as he stares at his knee. He’s panicking._

_Quietly, Iwaizumi settles his hand on Oikawa’s._

_“Look at me,” he requests softly and Oikawa turns at the sound of his voice, which is probably the only thing that’s grounding him right now. “I just want to see if it’s swelling. Okay?”_

_“Iwa-chan…” he whispers in fear and slackens his fingers. The pain throbs in the absence of his grip._

_Iwaizumi moves Oikawa’s hand away and removes the brace with practiced carefulness. Oikawa winces visibly and holds his breath as Iwaizumi tends to him. His knee is a little red and the swell is minimal and Iwaizumi concludes that it’s nothing they can’t fix. It’s likely to be in this state from overuse more so than an inflammation of his injury. To be sure, Iwaizumi presses his fingertips around the knob, gauging Oikawa’s reaction._

_“1 to 10?” he asks, fingers working on Oikawa’s knee. It was a question that needs no context, uttered countless of times in empty courts and locker rooms._

_“5?” he replies tentatively, wincing when Iwaizumi presses at a particularly painful spot._

_“I’m going to move your leg now okay?” he tells him, reaching for his ankle as he slips the other hand under his knee._

_Oikawa nods._

_Slowly, Iwaizumi lifts his leg and shifts it in a horizontal motion, stretching it out before pulling it back in again and repeating it a few times. Oikawa finally brings himself to look at Iwaizumi properly, watching in silence as his eyes follow the careful movements. Iwaizumi has his eyebrows pulled together in concentration for a simple gesture, making sure he’s not causing any more pain for the setter._

_A pang of guilt hits Oikawa and coils low in his stomach. It may not have seemed like it, but he had heard Iwaizumi when he first called out to him just now. He didn’t mean to make him wait at the café, but he had been too absorbed to notice the time fly by. In the confines of the indoor gym, Oikawa had no idea it was already dark out. Iwaizumi must have been really mad._

_Oikawa is reminded of the numerous times Iwaizumi chastised him for going overboard with practice and warned him not to overworking himself yet here they were, Oikawa having done the one thing he was told not to do and Iwaizumi dealing with the aftermath once again. Iwaizumi needing to fix him up…his stupid knee…the whole reason for_ this _, it all frustrates Oikawa and he bites his lip; as if he didn’t already have enough on his plate as it is._

_Iwaizumi glimpses at Oikawa from the corner of his eyes to gauge his reaction so far and unexpectedly catches him staring right back. Startled and embarrassed, Oikawa glances down hastily. Iwaizumi frowns at that, but otherwise doesn’t make mention of it._

_In an attempt to ease a little tension in the air, he lowers Oikawa’s leg and pats it assuredly, announcing, “You’re okay.”_

_Oikawa jumps slightly at the contact, clearly not expecting the abrupt declaration at all. Regardless, he breathes a sigh of relief and dares a peek at Iwaizumi._

_“Take a break for the next few days,” he adds, a request he thought was reasonable enough, until it snatches a protest from Oikawa._

_“No!” he yells, lurching forward and eyes growing wide like Iwaizumi just made an irrational demand. “I can’t do that!”_

_“You’re injured,” Iwaizumi states obviously. It should be enough to make Oikawa see his point. But he should have known, rationality was not Oikawa’s strong suit when it came to matters like this._

_“This is hardly an injury Iwa-chan,” Oikawa dismisses but Iwaizumi notices how anxiety is creeping into his voice._

_“You need to take it easy,” he advises calmly but assertively._

_“I’ll just ice it back home,” the setter urges. As the words desperately tumbled out of his mouth, Iwaizumi finds it more and more ridiculous. “I’ll be fine after I let it rest for the night. I can be back to normal and go back to practice the next day—”_

_“Tooru!” he raises his voice, frightening Oikawa to a stop but it doesn’t quell his stubbornness. Iwaizumi can see defiance burning in his eyes. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t stop Oikawa from his own undoing. “You’re in no shape to continue practicing like this—”_

_He finds he needs to fight Oikawa to have his words heard._

_“I have to…”_

_“You don’t have to do anything but take care of yourself!”_

_“I said I’m fine.”_

_“No you’re not! Damn it, stop doing this to yourself!”_

_“I CAN’T STOP!!” Oikawa shouts, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty court, desperation clinging to his every word. When he speaks again, he speaks with resignation and it makes Iwaizumi’s heart ache. “I can’t stop…Iwa-chan…”_

_He can’t bear to see the pity in Iwaizumi’s eyes, so he doesn’t look at him at all. He bites down hard on his lip and it barely keeps the tears in his eyes._

_Iwaizumi is at a loss for what to say, but he realizes that what Oikawa needs is not words of consolation or encouragement. He needs to_ talk _. There’s something he’s not revealing under all that talk about needing to practice harder and Iwaizumi will not leave until he has coaxed it out of him. He thought he had forgotten what it felt like to witness Oikawa like this, vulnerable and falling apart at the seams, but he hadn’t. It feels exactly like this._

_“Tell me what’s wrong,” he asks of him._

_Oikawa curls his fingers until his nails are digging into the flesh of his palm. He’s ashamed of how shaky his voice is when he speaks._

_“They’re putting Tobio-chan on the starting line-up,” he grits out, like it physically hurts to admit that out loud._

_Iwaizumi is more than familiar with the nickname, coined not with endearment but with mockery. Kageyama Tobio is the Japanese volleyball team’s newest addition. The youngest of the team. A prodigy. A setter._

_Oikawa had been grumbling about him ever since he joined the team and Iwaizumi was well aware that he was getting competitive over the newcomer. To be frank, it was more than what Oikawa let on. He hated the way he felt about it, like he was being threatened, like he could be easily left behind again. And it wasn’t fair, because it had taken him so much just to get to where he was today but some prodigy could have done it with a fraction of the effort he put in. It’s as if he had run half his race, only to find out that it was someone else’s starting point. Kageyama Tobio was not fair._

_Iwaizumi’s seen the guy. He was rather overbearing and uncooperative but Iwaizumi could tell he was a sincere kid who was making the effort to overcome his shortcomings. It was nothing like the way it was in high school but it still had the power to dig up all of Oikawa’s insecurities and drive him into a mindless obsession. But Iwaizumi is a man of his word and he had sworn he’d fix Oikawa as often as it takes._

_“He’s new, it’s natural that that they’d want to try him out in a game,” Iwaizumi explains._

_“Once they put him in a game, they’re going to keep him there,” Oikawa hisses, more afraid than anything._

_“You don’t know that. Both of you have different styles of playing. He could be suitable for some games and you could be good for others,” Iwaizumi highlights, trying to make Oikawa understand that he wouldn’t be taken off the court completely. But the thing about Oikawa is, he never wants to share the spotlight._

_“I don’t want that…” he says through clenched teeth._

_“Tooru, he’s not your enemy,” Iwaizumi tells him._

_“So what if he doesn’t stand on the other side of the net?” Oikawa questions hotly. His vulnerability melts into anger, his own way of dealing with his weaknesses acting up again. “He’s still pushing me off the court!”_

_“That just makes him your rival.”_

_“Don’t take his side!”_

_“I’m not taking his side. I’m trying to tell you that you don’t have to see him as an obstacle,” he reasons, catching the glint in Oikawa’s eyes and the indignant curl of his mouth. “Remember the other wing spiker in Seijoh? The one who joined in our second year? He was vying for a place in the starting line-up too and even made clear his intention by challenging me. I was threatened sure, but it worked out fine in the end didn’t it? I just—”_

_Oikawa cuts Iwaizumi off with an impatient click of his tongue. He shakes his head vehemently, as if dismissing everything Iwaizumi has said and allows his rage to take control of his words._

_“It’s not the same! There are 2 spikers on a team—you get to be second best—_ I _don’t!”_

_Everything happens slowly in the next moment._

_Oikawa feels his heart drop to his stomach when he sees Iwaizumi’s eyes widen in shock. The hurt is fresh on his face, like he cannot believe Oikawa would say such a scathing remark to him. He’s been tactless and insensitive before, but not like this. Not like how he has crossed the line and not when there is some truth behind his words. It’s nothing like how he makes Iwaizumi realize that he has his owns insecurities as well._

_He wants to be furious and he thinks he has every right to be, but Iwaizumi finds that he’s too hurt to muster that sort of anger. He keeps his gaze steady instead, because there was one person who needed assurance right now, and he’s going to make sure it’s not him._

_“I—I’m sorry…” he stammers, the words heavy on his tongue and his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Iwa-chan…I didn’t…”_

_“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi tells him softly and Oikawa wants to die. He’s supposed to be mad at him, to walk away and leave. He’s not supposed to look at him like_ that _, like he still fills all the spaces in his heart._

_“Iwa-chan…” he hiccups, tears dashing across his cheek._

_“Hey, it’s okay,” Iwaizumi tells him again and Oikawa cannot, for the life of him, understand how that could be okay. He just knows that the stars had aligned for him for Iwaizumi to be still beside him, settling his hand on top of Oikawa’s and gathering his fingers into his palm. When he speaks again, it’s with as much tenderness as it was before._

_“I know how you must feel, but I’m worried for you. I don’t want you getting hurt. It’s not going to do you any good if your knee starts acting up again,” he implores, brushing his knuckles against Oikawa’s damp cheeks. “I want you to stay on the court at your best.”_

_Oikawa looks up at Iwaizumi from under his lashes, heart seizing in his chest._

_“Take it easy for a while okay?”_

_He nods lightly, like a child finally listening to what he’s being told._

_“Promise me?”_

_Oikawa’s voice is small. “Okay.”_

_“Good,” Iwaizumi says, tightening his hold on Oikawa’s hand. “Let’s go home.”_

_He starts to rise to his feet but Oikawa isn’t following suit. He stays seated on the floor, though he clutches Iwaizumi’s hand tightly and stares at him sheepishly._

_“Iwa-chan, carry me please?”_

_Iwaizumi blinks at him but eventually sighs in defeat. Dutifully, he bends down and scoops Oikawa into his arms, one arm supporting his back and the other carefully tucked under his knees. Oikawa’s hands naturally come around Iwaizumi’s neck, lacing his fingers together. He buries his nose into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as Iwaizumi walks them both to the locker rooms._

_“Hajime…” Oikawa murmurs, lips ghosting across his skin. “I’m glad I have you.”_

_Iwaizumi turns to brush his cheek against Oikawa’s hair in response._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you realize, the people around Iwaizumi don’t even know that he’s attached (with the exception of a few people like Kuroo and Hanamaki). This is because he lives with Oikawa and if he reveals he’s attached, it’s pretty telling that his partner is Oikawa, which the paparazzi will pick up on. So he keeps that a secret as well.
> 
> However, he finds it safe that the Kara Café employees know because they don’t really follow sports (only a few characters play volleyball in this AU) and tabloids, which is why he revealed it to them (it’s also sort of a relief for him to be able to tell some people about it; remember, he’s the one who doesn’t want it hidden).
> 
> Also, I have nothing against Kageyama, he’s here to bring out certain aspects of Oikawa’s character. And whew, that was long! I had not intended it to be this long…hope you enjoyed!


	8. Helter-Skelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!!

"So? How was your date?” Oikawa asks petulantly as he plonks Iwaizumi’s regular long black on the table. He tried not to sound so wounded over it, but that didn’t turn out to be too successful. After all, it had been eating at him over the weekend. Wondering how their stupid date had gone and wishing that it was nothing but a disaster had left him in a mood. Kuroo could attest to that.

Iwaizumi stares at the spilled droplets of coffee running down his cup and raises an eyebrow at Oikawa, who seemingly elects to ignore his lack of customer service. By now, it’s not even surprising to witness this sort of behaviour from his student but the reason behind it still escapes him. Iwaizumi has gotten used to it though (at the back of his mind, he tells himself he shouldn’t) and grants him an answer. Maybe he feels bad about snapping at Oikawa last week.

“There wasn’t any date,” he states simply and takes a sip of his coffee.

It’s odd not to hear anything from Oikawa, given that he reacts so strongly to (almost) everything Iwaizumi says. When he looks up, he realizes the silence stems from Oikawa’s preoccupation with staring back at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. So dramatic.

“What do you mean?!”

There he goes. Iwaizumi sighs but answers him anyway.

“I didn’t go on a date with him,” he says coolly, intentionally being vague.

“So what was up with… _that_ —last week?” Oikawa probes, gesturing in an ambiguous circle. Iwaizumi thinks he means the whole matter about getting coffee to-go and leaving with another guy at his side.

“Who was he?” Oikawa finishes.

“He’s just someone my friend set me up with, thinking it’d do me good to get out and know people,” he says and Oikawa can tell, from the way he said it, that Iwaizumi has probably shown his friend the consequences of pulling such a stunt. “I didn’t know he was going to turn up and I had no intention of going out on a date with him. So when we left, I turned him down.”

It takes a while for Oikawa just to say, “Oh.”

He shifts his weight to the other leg and asks, more subdued now that he knew there was no date at all, “Why?”

“I’m still married,” he replies easily. What he leaves out is that it wasn’t the only reason. Iwaizumi doesn’t say it’s more complicated than that. He had turned him down not just because he’s still a married man, but because he could never love another person as much as he loves Oikawa. The divorce was never about losing his feelings for Oikawa; it had always been about feeling too much.

Oikawa wants to respond with a snarky remark but comes up short. While he’s relieved that Iwaizumi decided not to date during this tough period, he wonders if it’s the married status that’s the only line holding Iwaizumi back. If they really went ahead with the divorce, would he go on dates then? If he puts himself on the market again, Oikawa knows that it would not take long for Iwaizumi to find someone else.

They only needed to look past his rough exterior to discover what a gem he was. Patient, protective and loyal, Iwaizumi Hajime was a gift. Oikawa prided himself for being the only few who knew Iwaizumi inside out and he would _hate_ for someone else to take his place.

The silence must have gotten a little uncomfortable because Iwaizumi breaks it by clearing his throat.

“Anyway, you mentioned before that you weren’t doing so well in Sawamura’s class?”

The creeping hostility on Oikawa’s face is quickly replaced by mild surprise.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, remembering the time he told Iwaizumi about the struggles of grasping _Fundamentals in Sports Injuries_. He grimaces.

“I volunteer at the sports rehabilitation centre sometimes,” Iwaizumi tells him. “I thought it would be useful if for you to learn about sports injuries and some related physiotherapy techniques first-hand. Might help you in understanding the concepts and you’d be volunteering as well. You want to come with?”

To say that Oikawa was happy was an understatement. He was thrilled, absolutely delighted and practically buzzing with excitement. This was the first time Iwaizumi had initiated anything and Oikawa thanked the gods that his efforts had paid off. Perhaps now, Iwaizumi would be more willing to share when he tried figuring out how their relationship had become so complicated.

He still acted as if it wasn’t a big deal though, since he’s had enough of being weirdly invested in Iwaizumi’s personal life. So Oikawa cants his hip, pushes his glasses up his nose and says as airily as he could muster, “That would be a fantastic idea.”

“Just say okay like a normal person,” Iwaizumi says immediately after and Oikawa sputters in embarrassment.

It incites a bout of laughter from Iwaizumi, who seems to find Oikawa’s tacky attempt at being classy hilarious. The student knows Iwaizumi just made a dig at him, but with _that_ sort of laughter, with no hidden intentions and filled with mirth, Oikawa can’t seem to mind at all.

He catches the crinkles in the edges of Iwaizumi’s eyes and the way his lips are turned up at one corner and Oikawa wonders if it’s his 21-year-old heart that has him so smitten or it’s just that possible to keep falling for the same person. He supposes he’ll find out once he turns back and finds that his heart still swells when he looks at Iwaizumi.

“So Saturday afternoon?” Iwaizumi finally says. “I can meet you at the train station.”

“I’ll be there,” Oikawa answers, already looking forward to it.

* * *

The sports rehabilitation centre is not a new thing to Oikawa.

He knows his husband regularly volunteers at the centre, putting his knowledge and skills to aid the injured and recovering. He had been involved in the area very early on, ever since Oikawa suffered from the knee injury in junior high school. He started out by simply learning about the topic of sports injuries, reading books and online articles. Eventually, he had ventured to the subject of physiotherapy, which had been his ultimate goal really. But to heal, you’d need to know what the problem was.

The intention was never to earn a living out of it. He never even meant to teach the specialized topic of sports injuries in university and only agreed to when the school couldn’t find a suitable teacher before Sawamura. All things considered, he just wanted to support one person; to help that one person in a way that mattered. So when Oikawa recovered enough and all he needed was a massage to ease the occasional pain or a pampering here and there, Iwaizumi found that he did not put his skills to practice as often.

Which was a shame, because there were so many others who could probably benefit from his deft fingers, patient demeanour and unwavering dedication.

And so Iwaizumi volunteered at the rehab centre. A few times a month or at least once a month during busy periods. He had invited Oikawa to accompany him on multiple occasions, but the setter always told him he was busy or tired from practice. (It’s not a lie, but it wouldn’t have hurt to try a little harder. Iwaizumi would show him that it could be worth his time. It was definitely worth his.)

Thinking about it now, Oikawa feels a little sheepish because volunteering had been a regular activity in Iwaizumi’s life but he’s only went with him like, once? Or twice? That, and also because he’s late. He’d been anticipating this for 5 days only to turn up late. Oikawa groans and picks up his speed.

“Iwa-sensei!” he calls out to the figure leaning against the wall as he jogs over. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine,” Iwaizumi tells him and pockets his phone. Oikawa smiles happily and catches himself before he slips his hand into Iwaizumi’s free one. It’s so easy to fall back into their routine, to treat this like one of their countless dates. Oikawa has to remind himself that he’s a man on a mission, a man who would not have any more dates if he were to fail.

Iwaizumi leads them to the rehab centre in a 10-minute walk, with Oikawa pretending to be ignorant by asking questions he knew the answer to and Iwaizumi being none the wiser. When they enter the building, Oikawa learns that Iwaizumi is quite well-known here. He is greeted by whoever he passes by and for once, Oikawa feels like Iwaizumi’s the more popular one. It’s a strange feeling for the smiles and waves to be directed at Iwaizumi, while he receives a few friendly nods and curious glances.

He’s soon brought to the changing rooms where they switch into more comfortable attire. Oikawa changes into dry-fit clothes and Iwaizumi simply changes out of his jeans into track shorts. He shrugs off his jacket to reveal the sports shirt he was already wearing and Oikawa makes a note to do that the next time he’s here.

When they’ve left their belongings in the nearby lockers, Iwaizumi turns to him, “Come on, I’ll bring you to the main facility where we conduct physiotherapy sessions for people who are recovering from sports injuries.”

Oikawa only realizes how big the centre is when he notices the signs directing to places like “specialty clinics”, “diagnostics unit” and “aquatic therapy centre”. It dawns on Oikawa that this is the sort of place he used to hate (probably still dreads going to if his knee were to act up again). He shuffles closer to Iwaizumi and hopes this won’t turn out terribly.

Luckily for him, Oikawa is pleasantly surprised when they enter the main facility. For one, it doesn’t look like a total drag to be in. It’s quite the opposite in fact, with bright lights filling the large room, colourful mats and encouraging expressions on the trainers’ and volunteers’ faces. It wasn’t like this at all when Oikawa was undergoing his own physiotherapy sessions. Perhaps everything looks different when you’re looking at it as an outsider than when you’re actually experiencing it.

For another, Oikawa is met with probably the most optimistic-looking recovering athlete he’s ever come across.

“This is Watari Shinji,” Iwaizumi introduces. “Watari, this is Ohara Tooru. He’s my student and he’ll be joining us for today’s session, is that okay?”

“Sure!” Watari, the high-schooler with a shaven head chirps back. “Nice to meet you, Ohara-san. Have you been here before?”

“No,” Oikawa answers slowly, still trying to understand how he can appear so cheerful when he needs to undergo rehabilitation and probably has to take a long break from whatever sport he got this injury from. Oikawa remembers very clearly it was not anything to be cheery about. “It’s my first time here.”

“Have you volunteered in a sports rehab centre then?” Watari asks as they head towards a type of pulley equipment at the far end of the room.

“Not really?”

He doesn’t know why he phrased it like a question but Iwaizumi must have noticed how lost he looks because he steps in to say, “Watari has a shoulder injury. He’s a swimmer.”

“Oh,” Oikawa manages.

“Yeap. I swim freestyle,” he informs him as Iwaizumi busies himself with setting up the equipment. “I got this injury when I tried learning butterfly on my own. Iwaizumi-san has been helping me for a few weeks now and he says I’m doing well.”

“You’ll be back in the water soon,” Iwaizumi says encouragingly. “You’re taking it easy for now right?”

“I am!” Watari replies eagerly.

“Good,” he says and passes the handles to Watari.

Iwaizumi turns back to Oikawa, indicating the corresponding area on Watari’s shoulder as he continues, “Watari has rotator cuff impingement. It’s when there’s pressure on the rotator cuff from part of the shoulder blade as the arm is lifted. So the rehabilitation is focused on the cuff and scapular strengthening.”

As Iwaizumi details the nature of the injury and explains how each technique helps in the rehabilitation process, Oikawa finds himself listening intently. Time passes by quickly when Oikawa is preoccupied with Iwaizumi’s teaching and watching how Watari performs his exercises. Before he knows it, they’ve already completed the one-hour session, Iwaizumi packing up the equipment and giving a few final instructions to Watari.

It’s not so bad Oikawa thinks, volunteering at a place like this. He can see why Iwaizumi makes time to do it. It isn’t scary and it isn’t depressing and it makes him wonder why he felt so differently when he was the one laying on the mat. Maybe if he had a trainer like Iwaizumi…

Then again, he was always there by his side, wasn’t he?

 “Ohara? Ohara!”

“Huh?” Oikawa says dumbly, blinking a few times before facing Iwaizumi.

“You have any questions?” he asks, hoping Oikawa wasn’t actually spacing out the whole time.

“Oh, no, I’m good,” he answers quickly.

“My parents will be coming to pick me up,” Watari interjects as he finishes the last of his warm-downs. “I’ll head out first alright? Thanks for today Iwaizumi-san. And it’s good to meet you Ohara-san, I’m sure you’ll do well under Iwaizumi-san.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Oikawa says sincerely. “I hope you get to go back to swimming soon.”

“Take care,” Iwaizumi adds and waves him off as Watari trots away with a beam.

The room is emptier now that most of the sessions has ended and just as Oikawa is wondering what they’re going to do now, Iwaizumi says, “Stay here. I’ll get us some drinks.”

“Okay,” he answers, taking a seat on one of the benches as Iwaizumi heads out. Oikawa watches mildly as another trainer pats Iwaizumi on the shoulder, likely to tell him ‘thanks’.

He was glad he didn’t think twice about joining Iwaizumi today, too excited over the fact that he had initiated something to be hesitant about returning to a place that reminded him of rougher times. He was always like that, running away from the problem as if constant denial could somehow make it disappear. Iwaizumi was different in that sense, he faced them fearlessly. If Oikawa’s knee acted up, he wouldn’t pass it off as nothing; he’d make him rest, forcibly if necessary. If he felt that his marriage was beyond saving, then he’d find no reason to prolong it.

Oikawa’s heart stutters in his chest when a bottle of sports drink is thrusted at him. He follows the length of skin and meets Iwaizumi’s green eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, fingertips brushing against Iwaizumi’s hand as he takes the drink from him. “You know I didn’t really do much.”

“Yeah. Well.”

He sits beside Oikawa, gulping down his own drink.

“So was this useful?” he asks after a while.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says and laughs lightly. “But don’t expect me to ace Sawamura’s class just after this one session.”

“You could come again,” Iwaizumi tells him. “You can register yourself as one of the volunteers. I’m sure Yachi could help you out on that and you can even get a few friends to join you.”

“But I know next to nothing about physiotherapy,” Oikawa admits and then corrects himself. “Well I suppose I do know something about techniques for knee injuries from experience…though I’ve probably already forgotten half of them.”

“I could show you around first,” Iwaizumi offers and stops short, staring at Oikawa in surprise. “Wait, you have a knee injury?”

“Uhh…” Oikawa stumbles at the suddenness of Iwaizumi’s question, wondering why he had to be so sharp and why he always has to be so extra.

“Is it because of basketball?” Iwaizumi asks before he can spin another tale.

It takes a split second for Oikawa to remember that Kenma had indicated “basketball” as his club activity in his fake transcript. Grateful for that small detail and Iwaizumi making his own assumptions, Oikawa recovers quickly enough to go with the flow.

“Yeah, it is,” he bluffs. “Got this injury in my last year of high school.”

“Is that why you’ve stopped playing?” Iwaizumi asks concernedly and Oikawa really doesn’t want to go there, considering how deceitful it’ll be, even for him.

“Partly…and I wasn’t very interested in basketball anyway,” he says dismissively. “I just played it because I’m tall.”

Iwaizumi considers that for a while before dropping his gaze to Oikawa’s knee and asking, “Does it still hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

That, Oikawa tells himself, isn’t a lie. At 21, his knee still gave him problems from time to time.

“Do you do your exercises regularly?”

“Ah…”

“It’s important to, you know,” he says, voice assuming a chiding tone like the way he used to nag at Oikawa.

“I forgot…?”

“I can teach you some techniques for your knee,” Iwaizumi offers, putting his drink away and looking as if he’s ready to start a session with Oikawa right here and now.

Oikawa flusters a little, unsure of how to react to the sudden turn of events.

“Right now?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi answers as-a-matter-of-factly. After all, they are in a sports rehab centre and there were proper mats lying around. “Get on the mat.”

Left without a choice, Oikawa obediently sits on the mat until Iwaizumi instructs him to lay back. He trains his eyes on the ceiling, purposefully avoiding Iwaizumi, who was pressing the pads of his fingers against Oikawa’s knee.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, gauging Oikawa’s reaction as he applies pressure around the area. His touch is careful but firm and he seems as serious about this as every other thing.

Oikawa scrunches his nose; it doesn’t hurt per se, he’s more worried about trying to calm his racing heart and making sure the creeping blush isn’t too prominent until—

“Ow!”

A sharp pain shoots up his leg when Iwaizumi hits a particularly sensitive area and Oikawa jerks up violently, clutching his knee to himself and giving Iwaizumi a wounded expression.

“Sorry. So I guess that’s the spot?” he asks rhetorically and Oikawa only answers with a wary stare. “Put your leg down.”

Oikawa instead draws his leg towards himself, turns to look at Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye and slants his eyebrows in scepticism. Iwaizumi sighs and tells him, “I’ll be more careful this time. Now put your leg down and relax.”

He complies and gingerly slides his leg back down on the mat. Resuming his ministrations, Iwaizumi begins, “Start off by doing this to ease the muscles. Make sure you use the pads of your fingers first, before you go on to applying pressure with your knuckles. And just because the pain is concentrated here”—he taps the spot on Oikawa’s knee and looks up for a brief moment—“it doesn’t mean you neglect the other parts of your leg.”

Oikawa nods silently and lets Iwaizumi work his fingers, more preoccupied with anticipating the next jolt of pain to feel self-conscious about the fact that he was being taken care of by his teacher. Iwaizumi is an expert with the technique, using just enough force on the right areas; it’s like he never forgot how to deal with this in the first place. And he hasn’t, because if he wasn’t giving Oikawa a massage at home, he was here helping another kid tide through a sports injury.

It’s quiet in the room with only the two of them left, and Iwaizumi notices. He tries not to be too obvious when he sneaks glances at Oikawa, who is fortunately too engrossed in watching Iwaizumi’s fingers like a hawk to notice. His gaze is keen, though softened by the subtle worry in the crease of his eyebrows. Hip lips are slightly pursed, cheeks puffing out just so as a result. There’s a tiny twitch in his temple whenever he feels discomfort in his knee and it’s not like Iwaizumi deliberately notices, but from this distance, he thinks about how _smooth_ his complexion is. It’s pretty impressive for a guy and Oikawa is well, pretty.

Iwaizumi feels the sting of familiarity when his gaze settles briefly on the russet eyes behind those glasses and he looks back down before it can turn into longing. He trains his eyes on his fingers but perhaps it’s not so much of a better idea because all that fills his mind is the firmness of Oikawa’s long, sinewy leg. He has legs that belong to an athlete and Iwaizumi is a little surprised to find that out. From the way he acts, he didn’t strike Iwaizumi as an athlete or someone who works out. Then again, he is majoring in sports science and management so Iwaizumi shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. But he was hard to read, like he was masking something under all those layers. And sometimes, Iwaizumi catches a glimpse of someone he knows in one of those layers. Now is one of those times. He reminds him so much of Oikawa Tooru.

The thought makes him look up abruptly and he wonders why he had to think of this of all times. In the same moment, Oikawa meets Iwaizumi’s eyes and holds his gaze curiously. It looks like he has something to say, with his mouth barely parted and fingers losing their pace, hovering over his skin in the barest of touches. It tickles.

“Iwa—”

“Iwaizumi-san!!!”

The both of them jolt apart, Iwaizumi pulling his elbows in and Oikawa’s leg jerking up in shock. In a flash, a rather short guy with a rebellious streak of blonde hair comes barrelling towards them, seemingly oblivious that he had interrupted something.

“Iwaizumi-san!” he calls again and the man in question stands up, wondering what the commotion is now.

“Nishinoya,” he says as Oikawa stands up beside him, dusting off his pants. “What’s going on?”

The kid who looks like he’s still in high school (and not simply because of his stature), Nishinoya it appears to be, doesn’t even take a second to catch his breath before answering in a single beat, “Ryu broke something in the equipment room.”

“What?! Is he hurt?”

Oikawa looks from Nishinoya to Iwaizumi and is half-startled, half-amused at his reaction. Usually, accidents don’t faze Iwaizumi very much (unless they’re serious); dealing with such incidents with level-headedness and clarity is his forte. So Oikawa concludes that whatever Ryu broke must be dangerous or expensive. Or whoever this Ryu guy must be someone he cares about.

“No…” Nishinoya trails off and it’s evident there’s a ‘but’ to it.

Iwaizumi sighs through his nose and suddenly remembers Oikawa’s still there. His eyes dart between the two of them and he says, “Alright, I’ll go have a look. Two of you, stay here. Nishinoya, this is Ohara, my student. Ohara, this is Nishinoya, a volunteer.”

“Um, I can come with,” Oikawa offers, not very eager to be stuck with a stranger.

“It’s fine, I’ll be quick. Nishinoya, is anybody else there?”

“Ryu went to get Asahi-san, but he’ll probably freak out too,” he adds innocently and Iwaizumi merely nods dryly and jogs out of the room.

Oikawa’s shoulders visibly deflates when Iwaizumi is gone and he really isn’t in the mood to be making small talk. Luckily for him, Nishinoya chirps, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Oikawa greets politely. He can tell Nishinoya’s the talkative type. Maybe he can let him do all the talking until Iwaizumi returns.

“I’m Nishinoya Yuu. You can call me Noya if you like.”

“Ohara Tooru,” he introduces.

“So you’re Iwaizumi-san’s student huh. Is he your trainer too?”

“Ah…no,” Oikawa replies, realizing that Nishinoya must have assumed so after witnessing Iwaizumi tending to Oikawa’s knee. But saying no also meant that it would be weird for Iwaizumi to do that, because why would he when he wasn’t his trainer? Oikawa wants to clear the air but doesn’t know how to start.

“Oh,” he starts, a bit taken back. “’Cause I thought—”

“I have a knee injury from my high school days,” Oikawa cuts in. “He was showing me some techniques.”

“I see!” he exclaims and crosses his arms with a pleased expression. “You’ll be fine! Iwaizumi-san is a great trainer. I recuperated really well when he was helping me.”

Oikawa tilts his head and asks, “I thought you’re a volunteer?”

“I am! I just didn’t start out as a volunteer. I underwent rehabilitation here because of a leg injury from hockey and I was assigned to Iwaizumi-san,” Nishinoya supplies. “I was in a pretty bad shape and he saw through my treatment with me.”

“Oh…”

He doesn’t know what else to say because the fact that he knew nothing about this didn’t sit right with him. His husband had clearly made an impact on this boy for him to sing praises about him so genuinely but Oikawa had not known at all. He didn’t even know about Nishinoya until today. Just how much did Iwaizumi support these kids? How many of these people were there? And how could he have not known?

Iwaizumi didn’t talk much about his volunteer work with him. Or did he, but Oikawa wasn’t listening?

“You know, it’s because of him that I decided to volunteer as well,” Nishinoya fills the quietness.

“How come?”

There’s more to that story, Oikawa senses.

“I guess you can say that it’s his dedication that made me want to follow him,” he explains. “I mean, it’s just volunteer work after all. It’s really up to you to do it or not. And Iwaizumi-san doesn’t just do it, he’s serious about it. I took a longer time than others to recover and he was there the whole way, even when it cost him something important.”

“What was it?” Oikawa asks in the next heartbeat.

“When I was at the end of my rehabilitation, I got into a stupid accident at home which aggravated my injury. I remember feeling scared out of my wits because I was so close to going back to playing hockey but this dumb thing had to happen and I remember it hurting like hell. I couldn’t even walk.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows were pulled together in a frown as he listens intently.

“My parents weren’t in town that time and I didn’t know who to call. In my panic, I just called Iwaizumi-san,” Nishinoya looks up and one side of his mouth is curled downwards as he recollects the incident. “He said he was about to head somewhere and he sounded urgent, like he was already late. But I guess he could hear how much of a wreck I was then, because he turned up anyway and took me to the hospital. I really admired him and decided to become a volunteer too.”

“Why didn’t you call the ambulance?” Oikawa asks, knowing that it would come off as rude but frankly, he just wanted to know.

Nishinoya scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I was afraid they’d tell me I could never play again. I didn’t want to hear that after I’ve come so far. Good thing I didn’t have to; I only had to extend my rehabilitation and Iwaizumi-san agreed to continue being my trainer. I was kind of worried he wouldn’t, after it made him miss something important.”

“Do you know what it was?” Oikawa probes. Nishinoya hasn’t given him a clear answer yet.

“I think he mentioned it was a game,” he surmises. “He said there’s was someone he wanted to support. I don’t think he told me who it was.”

What follows is a creeping realization that this has more to do with him than he thought. Nishinoya’s words leave little room for doubt and they allude too much to a time he’d rather not relive.

“It sounded like it was really important,” he continues, not noticing the unsmiling expression Oikawa’s face has hardened into. “So I’ve always felt bad about it. I hope it turned out alright for him in the end.”

“When was this?”

“Hmm…around middle of last year.”

Oikawa searches his mind for significant events that took place during that time but he didn’t need to search long because only one sticks out. He had quite the falling out with Iwaizumi over a game because in all the years they’ve been together, it was the only game Iwaizumi did not attend.

What was the reason again? Oikawa can’t remember ever hearing it, but it was only because he didn’t give Iwaizumi the chance to explain.

Well, now he has, and it was from some stranger Oikawa only met today.

Knowing that…it takes a hold of his chest in an unforgiving grip.

“Ohara-san?”

Oikawa snaps his head back to Nishinoya, daze broken.

“Are you al—”

The door opens just then, sound deafening in the otherwise quiet room. Oikawa’s attention is fully brought back to the present, though he knows that what he’s been told will come back to haunt him.

“Hey, it’s settled,” Iwaizumi announces as he re-joins them.

“It’s not so bad right?” Nishinoya asks hopefully, forgetting about Oikawa’s previous discomfort.

“I hope the both of you have a part-time job,” Iwaizumi says with playful warning. “Because the damages are going to come out of your pockets.”

“No way!!” Nishinoya whines.

“I’m just kidding,” Iwaizumi smiles and ruffles Nishinoya’s hair. “But you two are banned from the equipment room until further notice.”

The younger volunteer breathes a sigh of relief and Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa, jerking his head towards the door.

“Shall we go?”

Oikawa nods without a word and follows after him. Iwaizumi throws him a weird look, noticing the slight change in Oikawa’s mood but ultimately ignores it, chalking it up to his own sensitivity. The setter is glad he isn’t asked any questions, since he wasn’t exactly subtle about being glum. At this point, he just wants to be alone.

* * *

Iwaizumi hesitates before pushing open the doors to the gym. He had wanted to leave after wondering if this was good idea after all but since he came all the way here, he might as well do it. Besides, he really wanted some answers.

To his relief, the person he’s here to see is bending over the benches packing his sports bag. The national team’s middle blocker looks up at the sound of Iwaizumi’s entrance and Iwaizumi spots the look of surprise that flits across his face.

“Iwaizumi,” he greets coolly, bracing himself for what’s to come. “Hey.”

“Kuroo,” he nods, looking at him straight in the eye. “You probably already know why I’m here so I’ll cut to the chase.”

He takes a breath before continuing, “Have you heard from Oikawa? I’ve been trying to contact him but I keep getting sent to voicemail and he doesn’t reply my texts. I was just wondering…if he’s okay.”

Kuroo hums thoughtfully and pretends to take a while to remember what Oikawa said.

“He only told me he’s settling a family emergency in Kyushu and I haven’t heard from him since,” he breezes. “Didn’t say when he’d be back too.”

Iwaizumi studies him carefully, trying to spot any signs of deception because if there’s anyone who would be helping Oikawa cover up for something, it’d be Kuroo. And Kuroo can’t blame him, but unfortunately for Iwaizumi, he’s a grade-A liar.

Unable to detect any dishonesty, Iwaizumi takes Kuroo’s word for it and sighs sharply.

Kuroo knows that whatever’s going on between Iwaizumi and Oikawa is not any of his business, but Iwaizumi’s presence here has him rather curious. Looking Kuroo up to check on Oikawa’s whereabouts, with worry hanging on his features, isn’t something Kuroo thought a soon-to-be-divorced man would do. In fact, it seems like something a concerned husband would do. To top it off, it didn’t look like Oikawa was getting very far with fixing his relationship with Iwaizumi in his 21-year-old self, which could only mean Iwaizumi was still going ahead with the divorce right? So why’d he come searching for clues as if he genuinely cares?

“You look troubled,” Kuroo points out, setting the stage for Iwaizumi to shed some light on this peculiar situation.

Iwaizumi bites the inside of his lip before answering.

“I just find it weird that he’d make this trip when he isn’t very close to the relative, and given that the Asian Championships is coming up…it’s not like him.”

There it is; the unrestrained worry that only comes with genuine concern.

“Maybe he didn’t have a choice?” Kuroo offers and leans back when Iwaizumi sends him a steely gaze.

“When did that ever stop him?”

Kuroo doesn’t have a response to that because it’s true. Oikawa never let anything stop him when it came to volleyball. He’s beginning to think he won’t win this one against Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi must have realized how curt he sounded, for he shakes his head in a silent apology and says, “Anyway, can you let me know? If you do hear from him.”

There’s a raw desperation to his voice, no matter how mild, that Kuroo can’t help but feel guilty when he says, “Sure.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs and adjusts the strap on his shoulder, turning to make his way out.

“Iwaizumi,” he calls, a final attempt to allay his suspicions. He was never one to believe in marriage, but two people who seem so right with each other couldn’t have possibly made a mistake, could they? When Iwaizumi faces him, he says, “He told me you know, about the divorce.”

It’s Iwaizumi who is surprised now and Kuroo continues, “You don’t act like someone who’s about to divorce his husband. So why?”

He leaves the question open on purpose but he’s sure Iwaizumi knows what he’s referring to. Iwaizumi looks down at the freshly-mopped gym floors, stalling for time to a question he already knows the answer to. When he looks up at Kuroo again, his eyes are worn at the edges.

“I’m tired.”

Yet for someone who should be relieved to be able to let go of something wearying, all Kuroo saw on Iwaizumi’s face was pain.

* * *

In another gym where Oikawa had begged the manager to let him use the courts until closing hours, the setter is drowning himself with jump serve after jump serve. He wasn’t even practising at this point, merely venting his frustrations into the blue and yellow balls.

They gym is quiet at this time of the day, save the repeated smacking of volleyballs against the hardwood floor. Every time he jumps to hit the ball with a force greater than the last, there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him of what he’s been told this afternoon.

The truth hurts sometimes but it wasn’t the true reason behind Iwaizumi’s absence during that one game that hurt the most. It was the truth that Oikawa never gave him the chance to explain in the first place.

It had been a rough game where his performance was not at its peak and he had needed Iwaizumi then, needed to see his face in the crowd, needed his simple presence for moral support. But he thought about the kid, Nishinoya, and realized that he probably needed Iwaizumi more.

And the only reason why Iwaizumi had forgone the game was because he trusted Oikawa to understand. Yet he had not.

It makes him feel like shit, and Oikawa cannot imagine how it must have been for Iwaizumi then, who had swallowed his protests and apologized after.

When he finds that he can no longer jump as high or serve as hard, Oikawa drops to his knees in exhaustion, a ball rolling away from him forlornly. Breathing hard, he squeezes his eyes shut and grips his knees, only opening them when he starts to see bright spots in the back of his eyelids. There’s an aching heat in his hands and he stares down at his palms, which have gone red and slightly swollen from all the reckless serves.

Looking up, he’s surprised to see so many blue-and-yellows littering the court. He didn’t realize he had been serving so many times, especially since his weak knee was not crying out in pain yet. This must be one of the wonders of having a younger body again. Oikawa scoffs, because what good did it do if he couldn’t even accomplish what he set out for?

Wasn’t the whole point of being his 21-year-old self again to fix his relationship with Iwaizumi? Why does it feel like he’s only been meeting dead ends and digging up past mistakes then?

Oikawa inhales sharply; was this it? Was this about a lesson learnt? Had that incident heralded the first signs of their crumbling marriage?

If so, Oikawa can safely say he’s learnt, but then what? He wonders what he’s supposed to do with the information he has. It’s not like time has turned back to that moment so that he can replace his scathing words with something more understanding. Time has only turned back for his body. And it’s not as if he could apologize to Iwaizumi out of the blue.

He may know what went wrong, but he has no idea how to fix it.

As anger and vexation builds up in him, Oikawa digs his nails into the nearest volleyball, scrambles to his feet and flings it thirty feet across the court.

* * *

_“I’m home,” Iwaizumi announces as he toes off his shoes in the entranceway. There’s a rough edge to his voice, a result of the tiring day he’s been through. And it doesn’t help that he knows it’s not the end of it yet. He’d spent the better half of the day rushing a kid to the hospital and staying there to make sure he’s okay and by the time he’s home, it’s already night and he’d missed Oikawa’s match._

_He doesn’t doubt that Oikawa will be mad, he just hopes he understands once he explains what happened._

_The moment he steps into their living room, a foreboding feeling settles within him. Oikawa is seated on their couch, the television switched on but the volume set so low you’d have to strain your ears to hear it. Iwaizumi knows instantly that Oikawa isn’t paying attention to it at all. Iwaizumi notices the little details, like how his arms are crossed, how his posture is stiff and the tension in his closed lips._

_“Tooru?” he calls out tentatively._

_Oikawa uncrosses his arms, stands and fixes him with a hard stare._

_“Where were you?”_

_The hostility makes Iwaizumi flinch internally. Oikawa’s tone is accusatory and he seems ready to launch into a heated argument. Iwaizumi can tell he’s barely holding himself back. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid._

_“Tooru…” he starts, an attempt to show that there’s nothing to quarrel over. He hates having to act like he’s walking on egg shells when it comes to Oikawa, but when he’s truly mad, he can be a storm._

_Oikawa decides not to beat around the bush._

_“You weren’t there.”_

_The iciness is evident though not strong enough to mask the hurt and Iwaizumi cannot help the sharp pang of guilt. But he had good reason._

_“I was at the hospital,” he tries to explain, stepping towards Oikawa. “One of the kids—”_

_“You’re not even volunteering today!” he cuts him off, temper flaring because he’d been patient for the last couple of hours and he’s finally snapped. Iwaizumi wasn’t the only one who had a rough day._

_“It’s different…”_

_Iwaizumi’s controlled temper rubs him the wrong way. It was infuriating to see how composed he was, like he was unaffected, when Oikawa himself had been trying to keep his negativity in check ever since he could not find Iwaizumi sitting in the crowd at the start of his game. He was never late, and to think he didn’t even show up._

_“Did you even know I had a game today?!” he demands, eyebrows pulling into a deep frown and mouth curling up into a snarl._

_“Of course I knew!” Iwaizumi matches Oikawa’s loudness, appalled that he would even suggest that. He realizes that the chance of salvaging the situation is slipping further away._

_“Then why weren’t you there?!” Oikawa bites back in frustration, emotions running high as he steps up to Iwaizumi fiercely._

_“He was injured!”_

_“_ All _of them are injured!”_

_“Tooru, can’t you just listen—”_

_“I WAS BENCHED!” he shouts, and the silence that ensues is strung with tension. Oikawa doesn’t realize his fists are curled, until his nails are digging painfully into his palms. He’s breathing hard from his outburst and the culmination of his anger, hurt and disappointment tapers off to a dull ache._

_“It was one of the worst games I’ve played and I needed to see you but you weren’t there,” Oikawa’s voice cracks, vulnerable and wounded. “You never turned up.”_

_Iwaizumi’s lips are parted in shock. Oikawa’s outburst is one thing, but the fact that he was benched was something else altogether. It wasn’t just something to be sorry about, it was something to worry about. Because Iwaizumi knows exactly how much it means to Oikawa, he also knows how big of a blow it must be to him to have been benched during an official match._

_He’d find everything wrong with the way he’s playing, blind to the possibility that it could be an isolated incident and prone to imagining things that are worse than they actually are or things that are not even there. He’d think he’s not good enough again, he’d push himself again…hurt himself again. And Iwaizumi had to piece him back together. Again._

_He knows it’s not his fault, but it wouldn’t have come to this state if he had only been there. His very presence was Oikawa’s support and he failed to render it at the worst possible time. Could he have done something differently?_

_“Tooru…I’m sorry…” Iwaizumi apologizes, pained, because he can’t find anything else to say._

_He takes a few hesitant steps towards him, reaching out to hold his wrist. But Oikawa swipes his hand away, refuses to meet his remorseful eyes and brushes past him._

_“Forget it.”_

_That night when Iwaizumi slips into bed and wraps a protective arm around Oikawa’s waist, he’s at least comforted when Oikawa wordlessly leans back into his embrace though he doesn’t face him at all. Iwaizumi knows he did the right thing, he just wonders why it had to turn out so wrong._

_He never missed another game ever since._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the fluffiest chapter...but it gets better I swear. 
> 
> On a lighter note, wishing you guys a happy new year too! I'm glad you made it out of 2017 and I hope we can take 2018 on with as much strength, if not more. See you next year!


	9. Blurred Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys.

Kuroo stands over the mess of black hair and rumpled sheets, hand on his hip as he stares down at his vice-captain. Oikawa doesn’t even stir, the blanket wrapped tightly around his frame like it’s protecting him from the harshness outside. But ultimately, it’s a harshness he cannot run away from and as much as Kuroo doesn’t want to be the one who wakes him up for it, he feels compelled to do so. Especially after considering what happened yesterday, topped off by Oikawa coming home at some ungodly hour. Besides, Oikawa has definitely slept enough and was probably whiling the day away as much as he can.

Sighing in resignation, Kuroo kicks lightly as the mattress.

“Oi, get up,” he orders. “It’s like 4pm.”

As expected, Oikawa merely mumbles incoherently and burrows his face into the pillow. Kuroo figures he needs to resort to more persuasive means if he really wanted to wake Oikawa up.

“Just thought you’d like to know that Iwaizumi looked me up yesterday,” he adds.

It elicits the response he’s looking for, as Oikawa’s ears perk and he cracks open as eye to fix Kuroo with a half-confused, half-questioning glare. He looks a bit comical, peeking out of the covers like that.

“I was with him yesterday,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

“At night,” Kuroo tells him. “He came to see me after practice.”

The knowledge of Iwaizumi looking Kuroo up hits Oikawa like an incoming train in one of those dreams and he kicks off the covers to scramble up, one arm getting caught in the bundle of sheets.

“What did he say?” he asks eagerly, not bothering to smoothen his unruly hair or fix his clothes.

“He wanted to know if I heard anything from you,” the middle blocker answers, thinking how amazing it is that Oikawa zipped from leave-me-alone to tell-me-more at the mention of Iwaizumi.

“And what did you say?” Oikawa asks, straightening his back.

“Told him that you’re settling a family matter and I haven’t heard since,” he says and before Oikawa can lose interest assuming it’s something he already knows, Kuroo continues. “He also wanted me to let him know if I do hear anything from you.”

At that, Oikawa looks up, surprise written all over his face. The first thing that comes to mind is the comforting thought that Iwaizumi still cares. At least enough to want to know how he is. Enough to go searching for answers from Kuroo. It’s not so bad, Oikawa lets himself believe.

Kuroo seats himself at the edge of the bed and faces Oikawa. “He said he tried to call you and that you haven’t responded to his texts.”

“Shit, I left my phone back home,” Oikawa curses, admonishing himself for being careless when he rushed to crash at Kuroo’s and Kenma’s apartment.

“You should call him,” Kuroo suggests, remembering how concerned Iwaizumi was. “Let him know you’re okay at least. He seemed pretty worried.”

Oikawa knows he’s not supposed to feel happy when he hears that, but he does anyway. It’s a warped sentiment, to be pleased with the fact that Iwaizumi is worried over him. But it’s especially because things are the way they are now. It’s proof and comfort that what they have could be mended.

“What else did he say?” Oikawa tries.

Kuroo shrugs. “We didn’t talk much. He left shortly after that.”

He deliberately leaves the last part of their conversation out. Oikawa’s shoulders visibly deflate and Kuroo shifts on the bed.

“So the whole ‘getting-close-to-Iwaizumi’ idea is not going well huh,” he remarks sympathetically.

Oikawa suddenly exclaims, pent-up frustration manifesting itself in a loud yell, as he throws himself back on the bed and dramatically shields his face with his arm. It takes Kuroo aback, who vaguely wonders if Oikawa has finally lost it.

“It’s not going the way I expected at all!” he whines, voice muffled by his forearm but the exasperation permeates his skin and bones. Kuroo doesn’t have an adequate response, so he offers a listening ear instead. Oikawa’s vexation melts into aimlessness; it’s more than a little difficult to find his way in a maze full of dead ends and diversions.

He recalls yesterday’s incident and the turmoil it brought him and he groans into his arm.

“I can’t face him…” he laments without providing any context. Kuroo doesn’t really follow but he doesn’t pry. He has to admit that it’s not looking up for Oikawa and frankly, he doesn’t want to be ruining the mood further by reminding Oikawa of what’s next, but he figures someone has to.

“Hey, I don’t mean to pressure you or anything,” he starts tentatively, unable to gauge Oikawa’s expression with his arm blocking his face. “But you know the Asian Championships are coming up right?”

It’s next week in fact. The silence is heavy for that few seconds until Oikawa murmurs.

“I know.”

His arm slips from his face but Kuroo cannot read him. He can’t tell if he’s mad, because while the furrow of his brows is severe, it’s muted by the faraway look in his eyes. He can’t tell if he’s anxious, because while his lips are pressed together in a hard line, there’s a certain kind of resolution he emits.

In a second, it’s all replaced by mock triviality as Oikawa slants his eyes at Kuroo.

“I need a bloody stiff drink.”

* * *

Oikawa does fulfil his need hours later, after he has successfully wasted the better part of the day away and the sky has gone dark.

He trudges into his frequented bar, the one a mere five minutes from his and Iwaizumi’s apartment, and throws the staff an offended look when he is asked for identification only to remember that he probably does not look old enough to be stepping into a bar like this. Once he’s cleared (with scepticism, how rude), Oikawa takes his usual seat at the corner of the bar, in front of the bartender’s counter. It’s a private space away from the crowd and he likes it there when he prefers some quietness. It also reminds him of the time Iwaizumi pretended to pick him up only because Oikawa wanted him to.

He’s thankful that the bartender’s not the usual guy who serves him and Iwaizumi. He wasn’t in the mood to be dodging questions and fabricating lies. Oikawa lifts himself onto the tall seat and orders his drink. Something strong that would numb his mind and heart in half the time.

“Bourbon please,” he tells the bartender and slides his card over the counter. “Put it on the tab.”

“Oika—Ohara.”

The man in question whips his head to the sound of that voice, which would be welcomed under any other circumstances, but the world had a funny way of leading you into things (or people) you’re trying to avoid.

Iwaizumi is only a seat away, eyes as wide as Oikawa’s. They’re equally surprised to see each other, though Oikawa should be less so, since he knows for a fact that this is a bar they frequent.

“Iwa-sensei,” he greets politely enough, levelling his expression so that he doesn’t always look like a deer caught in the headlights. “Hey.”

“Hey…” Iwaizumi says lamely, and Oikawa notices he’s nursing his own drink, a brand of beer he knows as one of the stronger ones. He briefly ponders over how many pints he’s already had. From the looks of it, that isn’t his first pint of the night.

The bartender serves Oikawa’s bourbon to him and it provides the slight distraction for Iwaizumi, who quells the awkwardness when he asks, “You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before.”

And there goes Oikawa’s hopes of not having to dodge questions and fabricate lies. Thanks, life. At least he hasn’t started drinking yet. Oikawa doubts he’d be able to spin believable tales with a muddled brain.

“No…I heard from my friends that this is a good bar.”

Iwaizumi raises his brow at that; he’s tempted to ask if that’s because the alcohol they serve is good, or because the place is more liberal. But he leaves it at that. He also doesn’t realize that if Oikawa heard about this bar from his friends, then why is he alone? He tips his chin to Oikawa’s drink instead to comment, “That’s a pretty strong one.”

Oikawa looks down at his drink, clear, brown liquid glistening against the old-fashioned glass, and smiles. He may not have expected to bump into Iwaizumi here, but on the bright side, it was an inebriated Iwaizumi. It’s easier to deal with drunk-Iwaizumi who didn’t think as sharply and isn’t as stern.

“I could say the same for you,” he points out. “Drowning your sorrows?”

“Something like that,” Iwaizumi answers truthfully and twists the glass by the handle. His candour takes Oikawa slightly aback and he tries hard not to think about why that is so (though he has a rough idea). It also confirms that Iwaizumi is most definitely on his way to drunkenness if he was being honest like that. It’s rather humorous if you discount the elephant in the room, considering the night is still young but then again, he never could hold his liquor too well.

Upon closer examination, Oikawa makes out the alcohol-induced blush dusting his cheeks and creeping around his neck. He’s really wondering how much Iwaizumi has had now. He downs half his bourbon in a swig and purses his lips when the liquid leaves a hot trail down his throat.

“Well then, I guess that makes the two of us,” he quips, figuring there’s no harm to reciprocating with a little honesty of his own. Iwaizumi might not remember this conversation fully anyway.

“What are you troubled about?” he actually asks, tilting his head to the side in genuine curiosity.

Oikawa’s holds back a scoff. If only he knew.

“Are we having a heart-to-heart talk now?” he evades.

“Hah,” Iwaizumi releases a short laugh, shaking his head at the absurdity of it even though it could very well be that if Oikawa had answered truthfully. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Can’t imagine what that would be,” Oikawa remarks wistfully and downs another drink.

“Stay, maybe you’ll find out,” Iwaizumi suggests and it makes Oikawa’s heart skip a beat or two. But before he can respond, Iwaizumi corrects, “Or don’t, it’ll be bad for my reputation.”

He stays anyway.

As the night draws on, they forget about why they came here in the first place. (Funnily enough, aren’t they here because of each other?) Drink after drink, it becomes a distant thought in their minds and by the time they’ve lost count over the number of times they’ve tipped their heads back, they’ve filled the space between them with small conversations and quiet laughs. Oikawa remembers how easy it is to be comfortable around Iwaizumi.

Even if their frivolous talks are interspersed with him having to politely turn down advances from other patrons.

A dark-haired one just leaves (he was probably the third or fourth, Oikawa wasn’t keeping track), finally realising that he won’t be leaving with a black-haired, russet-eyed university student tonight. Oikawa had noticed him staring for quite some time before approaching him, most likely evaluating whether Iwaizumi was competition or simply an acquaintance and eventually concluded that it was the latter, given that he had not made any move despite the wealth of opportunities he had. Unfortunately for him and the two or three other guys before him, Iwaizumi was monopoly.

All this while, Iwaizumi had kept quiet with the knowledge that Oikawa had the same interest as him (like it wasn’t already obvious before). But Oikawa knows without a doubt that he was silently watching, trying to mind his own business but not quite managing it for some obscure reason to him.

“Quite the popular guy, aren’t you?” he comments.

“Naturally,” Oikawa quips, gliding a finger around the rim of his glass idly. “But they’re not my type.”

He wasn’t sure why he added that last point but he’s sure he wants this conversation to end differently than the ones he had with the faceless strangers. The alcohol is getting to him, he’s sure of it. (Perhaps the easy-going ambience too and the way they’re talking.) Otherwise, why would he want something more out of this coincidental meeting when he knows he shouldn’t?

“Picky too,” Iwaizumi says.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?” he wonders innocently, though nothing about his dark eyes and flushed cheeks is innocent at all.

“What my type is,” Oikawa answers easily.

Iwaizumi laughs through his nose.

“Not interested,” he claims and takes a swig. Oikawa watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs up then down.

Undeterred, he says in all seriousness, “My type is someone who’s taller than me only when he’s wearing lifts, loves mayonnaise on everything he eats and has a fetish for wearing suspenders on his underwear.”

Iwaizumi stares at him open-mouthed, his brain working through all the alcohol-induced haze to grasp what nonsense his student was spouting. It’s only a full three seconds later that he realises Oikawa was joking with a straight face and he bursts out in a short laugh, his mind buzzing with light-heartedness.

His laugh is contagious, and Oikawa breaks into a grin as well. He feels like he’s floating without a care in the world, the alcohol coursing through his system and injecting him with a sense of bravado.

“You’re crazy.”

“Not crazy, just drunk,” Oikawa retorts.

Iwaizumi glances at him from the corner of his eye, lip curling upwards into an endearing smile.

“Probably both,” he teases, voice dropping to a whisper.

“What was that?” Oikawa asks, leaning into the empty seat between them. It seems as if the bar has gotten louder, and the space between them wider but easily closed if only one of them made a move.

It’s Oikawa who gets up, glides his drink across the marble counter-top and finds a new seat right beside Iwaizumi. The teacher looks up in surprise and he’s inevitably caught in Oikawa’s gaze, not deliberately intense but naturally so. His pupils are wide and dark, barely hidden under his impeccable fringe, redness blooming across his cheeks and he’s close, so very close that Iwaizumi suddenly feels the air thin.

He’s drawn to him against his own will, the pints of beer in his blood screwing with his mind. Iwaizumi finds familiarity in the way Oikawa looks at him and he tells himself it cannot go further than this. But alcohol, when consumed in large quantities and by one who does not have a very impressive tolerance for it, can make someone forgetful and do things he’s told himself he would not do. Iwaizumi takes himself on a dangerous path.

“Um. I said you’re crazy and drunk,” he repeats distractedly, gaze dropping to Oikawa’s lips for a fraction of a second before he meets his eyes again.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Oikawa, who still has the keenness to pick out details like this. He’s not quite far gone yet, not as much as his companion.

“You know, that’s quite a dangerous combination,” he warns, tilting his chin so he’s staring at Iwaizumi through hooded lids and pulling his lip between his teeth. He’s aware he’s steering the conversation, leading it to a place they should not venture, but frankly, he was beyond the point of caring.

Iwaizumi tears his gaze away, avoids looking at him by staring down at his drink, heat creeping up to his ears. Oikawa downs his drink in a single gulp.

“Don’t you think so Iwa-chan?”

The nickname slips out unintentionally and Oikawa doesn’t realize his mistake. The term of endearment sticks out jarringly in the question and Iwaizumi snaps his head from his drink to stare at his companion in surprise.

It turns to one with incredulity when he wonders…when had Oikawa Tooru suddenly materialized beside him?

He could have sworn he was with someone else…yet when he looks at the person right next to him, he only sees his husband, the one person he had been yearning to see.

“Think about…what?” he murmurs absentmindedly, having cleanly forgotten what they were talking about, and pushes his tongue out to wet his lips. In this moment, all he wants to do is to forget about the divorce and tell Oikawa how much he missed him.

“This.”

Oikawa speaks barely above a whisper and Iwaizumi is drawn towards him, closing the distance between them and inevitably trapping himself into a situation he cannot escape from. The setter follows suit until they were only a few dangerous inches apart.

“Is this—is this okay?” Iwaizumi asks throatily, although he continues to lean towards Oikawa, unable to pull away from the palpable attraction. And Oikawa fares no better.

He doesn’t answer as well, because somewhere at the back of his mind, he knows it’s not. Not when Iwaizumi is under the impression that he’s his student. Not when they were both subjected to the chancy effects of alcohol. But with the music drowning out their thoughts and the alcohol clouding their better judgement, their lips meet in a bitter kiss.

* * *

What was a five-minute walk turns out to be twice as long when it’s delayed by fumbling in the alleyways and stolen kisses in the shadows. By the time the two of them arrive at their own apartment, their hearts are racing and the alcohol well-absorbed and coursing through their systems.

Everything happens in a blur, Iwaizumi finds his keys multiplying as he attempts to fit the right one in the lock, Oikawa shrugs off his jacket eagerly as he kisses Iwaizumi against the door the moment they’re inside, and they trip up the stairs trying to make their way towards their room.

They manage to enter their bedroom while catching lips and skin and Oikawa kicks the door close with the heel of his foot. He doesn’t waste another second tearing Iwaizumi’s jacket off his shoulders and throwing it carelessly on the floor. Iwaizumi almost falls backwards with the movement but balances himself by fitting a knee between Oikawa’s legs and holding himself against the door. He buries his nose in the crook of Oikawa’s neck, already intoxicated and even more so when he breathes in. He kisses the hot skin there, nibbling and sucking his way up until beer meets bourbon in a hungry kiss.

Oikawa realizes Iwaizumi’s only wearing a black Henley underneath his jacket and he has the sudden urge to want to rip that off him as well. He breaks the kiss to push themselves off the door and holds Iwaizumi close as they stagger towards the bed. The back of Iwaizumi’s knees hit the bedframe and he falls unceremoniously onto the mattress. The next moment has him pinned under the weight of Oikawa, who has crawled on top of him and is straddling his hips.

When he opens his eyes, he has trouble focusing on Oikawa but the weight on his hips is familiar. Oikawa looms above him, pleasure licking up a fire within him when he notices the lustful expression he’s receiving. Iwaizumi has no idea how much Oikawa has missed this, to be able to touch him freely and be touched in the same way; it doesn’t compare to the times he had to jack off in the shower, with only the fading thought of Iwaizumi in his mind.

Apparently (and not surprisingly), Iwaizumi cannot say it’s any different for himself, as he surges forward to catch Oikawa’s plump lips, head spinning in the process. Oikawa welcomes the suddenness of it, melting into the kiss when Iwaizumi slides his hands up to support him by the shoulder blades. They’re smoother than he remembers. He angles his head to meet his mouth better, shifts his thighs on each side of Iwaizumi to settle more comfortably on his lap and kisses with a fervency he hasn’t felt in quite some time. His glasses ride up on the bridge of his nose and Oikawa plucks them off impatiently.

Refusing to only let his mouth do the work, Oikawa claws at Iwaizumi’s back, bunching up the fabric between his fingers and pulling it over Iwaizumi’s head. He tosses the shirt aside and rushes into another mindlessly indulgent kiss, taking the opportunity to run his fingers up Iwaizumi’s well-toned stomach and chest, nails scraping over his nipples in the process. It lights up a spark of electricity between their bodies and Oikawa ruts against Iwaizumi’s groin to create delightful friction.

Iwaizumi groans when Oikawa moves against his crotch, allowing him to unabashedly slip his tongue in. He shudders when their tongues meet in wet slides and Oikawa wonders how such an alcohol-laden kiss could taste so sweet. They let their mouths take control and Iwaizumi makes quick work of Oikawa’s buttons, finally undoing them to reveal his bare skin.

He breaks the kiss, lips shining with saliva, and tilts his head to meet Oikawa’s eyes. They’re hazy, but it’s the same brown he’s always known and Iwaizumi is suddenly filled with longing. He doesn’t want this rushed anymore, he wants this to last, wants to shower Oikawa with affection and touch him like he means the world to him.

Iwaizumi kisses the side of Oikawa’s mouth as his hands roam across his skin, heat prickling under his fingers and he makes out the pleasurable sigh that escapes from Oikawa’s lips. He trails kisses across his jaw and down his neck, taking his time to savour the taste of his skin and the fragility of this moment. But Oikawa has other plans.

He’s flushed with eagerness and his whole body is thrumming with a need for more; more of Iwa-chan’s touches, more of his kisses, more of his skin. Just more of him.

“Iwa-chan—” he stutters, mind unable to form legible words but only to convey his desire. “I want…”

He reaches down, unbuckling his belt as swiftly as he can and unzipping his jeans, which feels way too tight right now. There’s a hard bulge in his underwear that needs immediate attention and Oikawa doesn’t hesitate to push Iwaizumi backwards. His head hits the pillows and he doesn’t even have time to catch his breath before he realizes that Oikawa’s already working on his belt, undoing his jeans and zipping down his fly.

But before he can press an impatient palm to his hardening member, Iwaizumi grasps his wrist.

“Wait—wait,” he stutters out in a daze, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them to refocus his gaze on Oikawa. It’s not very effective. “I want to see you.”

The black-haired student chuckles. “I’m right here.”

To prove his point, he grips Iwaizumi’s hips, boldly digging his nails into the flesh, and drags his cock over his. It draws a half-moan, half-gasp from Iwaizumi, who throws his head back in pleasure.

“Wait,” he says again and holds Oikawa’s hips in place. “Just—just let me look at you.”

Oikawa reluctantly complies, only because Iwaizumi is now staring at him with a tender look on his face, unmarred by the alcohol-induced lust. He gazes up at him through blurry vision, gliding his hand up Oikawa’s arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake. He rests his palm against Oikawa’s cheek, absorbing the heat from his skin, and caresses it gently. The recipient of such tenderness smiles happily and leans into the touch, heart soaring from being able to experience this sort of affection again. He brings his own hand up to press Iwaizumi’s more firmly against his cheek, stroking his thumb across the tanned skin. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, neither of them saying anything, simply drinking in the scene before them. After a while, it’s Iwaizumi who breaks the silence.

“I missed you,” he admits headily in a whisper. “Where the hell have you been Shittykawa?”

As quickly as his heart had soared, Oikawa finds it dropping to his stomach in an instant at the mention of that name. Oikawa stares wide-eyed at Iwaizumi, hands falling to his sides. He called him ‘Shittykawa’, a name reserved only for Tooru the national volleyball star, not Tooru the 21-year-old university student.

It dawns on him that to Iwaizumi right now, he is his husband.

Sobering up, Oikawa’s brain races into a panic; when did Iwaizumi think that he was Oikawa Tooru and no longer Ohara Tooru? Does it even matter anymore, now that they’re already in bed together? And Oikawa doesn’t have time to think, as Iwaizumi continues blearily, oblivious to his abrupt change in expression.

“I was worried about you, you know?” he rambles on. “You didn’t respond to my calls or texts…”

He lets his sentence hang there and sighs heavily, unaware of how he has just sent Oikawa reeling. The setter is rooted on the spot, his brain seemingly having short-circuited and the only coherent thought running through his mind being, _“He’s not supposed to know. He’s not supposed to know I’m here.”_

Still ignorant of the problem he created, Iwaizumi adds, voice hoarse but earnest.

“I wish…” he starts and pauses, like it’s taking him a lot to say it. He blinks at Oikawa but everything is still as hazy it was before. “I wish things didn’t turn out the way they did.”

The admittance seizes Oikawa’s heart and his breath catches in his throat.

“But I guess—” Iwaizumi hiccups. “—we wanted different things. People grow apart, even us, but Shittykawa…Tooru…”

Iwaizumi stares intently at Oikawa. His green eyes are glazed over, but he looks like he knows exactly what he’s saying. Oikawa holds his breath.

“You know you still got me.”

The phrase, a promise uttered since they were children and kept through actions, sets something off in Oikawa. Even now, when everything was falling apart between them, it’s the one promise Iwaizumi chooses to keep. And Oikawa cannot understand it.

Overwhelmed, he crawls off Iwaizumi, who makes no move to stop him, as he has already succumbed to the drowsiness, his head lolling off into the pillow.

Oikawa organizes his appearance carelessly and snatches his glasses from the bed as he leaves the room without sparing Iwaizumi a last glance. He takes two steps at a time as he makes his way downstairs, buttoning his shirt hastily and remembering to pick up his jacket on the way out. There’s more to Iwaizumi’s ramblings he knows, but Oikawa’s head is already aching with why he can’t reconcile his partner’s words and actions to make sense of it. In the exact opposite state of how he entered, Oikawa leaves their apartment in a turmoil of shame and confusion.

* * *

By way of habit, Iwaizumi wakes up at the crack of dawn even without setting his alarm. It’s the same as always, except today, he wakes up with a pounding headache and a stickiness in his underwear that he really doesn’t want to think about.

“Fuck…” he groans and clutches at his head in a dreadful need for some aspirin and water.

He looks around the room, thankful for the closed curtains shielding him from the brightness outside, and is surprised to discover that he’s in his own apartment instead of Hanamaki’s. Huh. How did he even get home last night?

Shit, he should have known better than to drink so much on a Sunday night, he’s got classes on Mondays for Christ’s sake. To be honest, he hadn’t meant to, but the unexpected appearance of his student—

At the intrusive thought of Ohara Tooru, Iwaizumi jerks up from his bed abruptly and immediately regrets it. A hand flies to cover his mouth when he feels the bile rising to his throat and he forces it back down. The last thing he wants to do is to have to clean the sheets as well.

Rewinding time in his mind, Iwaizumi remembers meeting Ohara in the bar last night. They sat apart, they made small talk, Ohara was popular, Iwaizumi watched. It was nothing.

It was nothing, he tells himself, but he also remembers hushed voices, sideway glances and searing touches. His face heats up mercilessly at the thought.

Iwaizumi’s heart thumps hard against his ribcage. The memories are fuzzy, but there were brushes of the lips, the drag of calloused fingers on smooth skin and for the life of him, Iwaizumi can only see Oikawa Tooru’s face. Oh god, he really hopes that he had been dreaming (which could also explain the stain in his underwear) otherwise, it would mean he not only engaged in an illicit affair with his student (who was a good ten years younger than him), but also mistook him to be his husband. (It shouldn’t make his dick twitch like that, but it does.) Just…great.

And to know that he’s shirtless with his jeans unzipped is not helping at all.

He really feels like puking right now. And he’s got class in two hours. God help him.

* * *

Miraculously, Iwaizumi makes it through the day without too much trouble, meaning he managed to look like he didn’t wake up with a god-awful hangover when he walked into class. He hadn’t seen Ohara in class and he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

His initial reaction had been one of relief, since it would probably be awkward if they had done something last night. But not having to deal with it now doesn’t mean it’ll just disappear. Iwaizumi is aware that he has to talk to him eventually, if he wanted to know the truth. As much as it scares him to recognize that the scenes replaying in his mind were too real to be images his brain conjured in his sleep, Iwaizumi has to get to the bottom of it. Which means a trip to Kara Café is on the agenda today.

He arrives at the café later than usual, when it’s almost dark out, because of some last minute work from Mizoguchi. He thought he’d miss Oikawa’s shift when he doesn’t see him at the cash register, bussing tables or preparing coffee. So he takes the chance to ask Yamaguchi when the boy’s bringing him his order.

“Thanks Yamaguchi,” he starts casually. “Is Ohara on shift today?”

“Yeah he is,” the freckled boy answers. “He volunteered to take the kitchen and cleaning duty today.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says. No wonder he didn’t see him out. Involuntarily, he frowns.

Noticing Iwaizumi’s troubled expression, Yamaguchi offers, “Do you want me to call him in?”

“No, it’s okay. Thanks.”

“Alright, enjoy your drink!” Yamaguchi says and heads back.

Iwaizumi thinks it’s weird; it’s the first time he’s heard of Oikawa volunteering to take the less glamourous duty and he didn’t strike him as someone who would. It kind of leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He doesn’t want to stay here any longer than he has to or keep delaying the inevitable, so after a few minutes of contemplation, he decides to head around to the back without finishing his drink, hoping he would be able to catch Oikawa.

It’s a little chilly when he steps out into the back alley where the employees take out the trash and Iwaizumi hugs his jacket closer to him. He doesn’t have to wait long until the back door opens to reveal Oikawa carrying a bag of trash, unaware of Iwaizumi’s presence in the dimly-lit alley.

He’s dumping the trash bag into the large bin when Iwaizumi says, “Hey.”

“Wah—!” he jumps and the lid of the bin slams shut. Whipping around to face the intruder, Oikawa’s eyes widen in surprise before he exhales sharply, trying to keep his voice levelled. “Iwaizumi-sensei, you frightened me.”

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi apologizes and pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against, shoving his hands into his pockets out of habit more than necessity. “I heard you were on cleaning duty today so I came out back.”

“Oh,” Oikawa manages and dusts his hands on his apron. He knows exactly what Iwaizumi is here for. No matter how drunk he was last night, he would have remembered at least bits and pieces of what happened. And with his absence from class this morning, Iwaizumi must be anxious to get the full picture. But as usual, Oikawa acts innocent until he figures out his next step. There are things he wants to know as well, questions he wants answers to.

“What’s up?”

Iwaizumi shifts uneasily on his feet, looking down at the ground before forcing himself to meet Oikawa’s eyes.

“Um…did we see each other yesterday?” he begins, deeming it an innocuous enough way to start. “I seem to remember we did…at the bar.”

“Oh yes! We met, it was such a coincidence,” Oikawa tells him, plastering on a smile and putting on his cheeky façade. “I found out that Iwa-sensei is not very a good drinker.”

If Oikawa was deliberately trying to make light of the situation, it wasn’t very effective. Iwaizumi felt that something was out of place and now that Oikawa has insinuated that he had been rather drunk, it did nothing to assuage his discomfort.

“I don’t remember much,” he says tentatively as his fingers curl inside his pocket. “But did…did anything weird happen?”

Iwaizumi feels his face burn and Oikawa senses that this is his way of asking if they had done anything. He plays it cool, calculating his next move.

“Weird?” he repeats in mock ignorance. “You just got drunk easily and I had to send you home. It’s a miracle you could even remember the address with the state you were in!”

“You sent me home?” Iwaizumi asks rhetorically, voice lilting with slight apprehension, afraid that what he thought was a dream was in fact reality.

“Yes, of course,” Oikawa replies easily, noticing Iwaizumu’s creeping anxiety. “I couldn’t leave you wasted on the streets could I?”

Iwaizumi swallows the lump in his throat, dreading the answer to his next question though it’s something he needs to hear. Fuck it.

“Did we—?”

“If you’re wondering if we slept together, then no, we didn’t,” Oikawa interrupts impatiently. Iwaizumi’s worry was unwarranted; they hadn’t fucked so he doesn’t have to make a big deal out of it. Oikawa ignores the fact that if Iwaizumi hadn’t started rambling like that last night, he would have very likely gone all the way. “You were a sleepy drunk and you knocked out the moment you were in your room. So whatever you thought happened must have been a dream.”

Iwaizumi is taken aback by Oikawa’s candidness but is nonetheless grateful. Perhaps it was his blunt reply that made Iwaizumi believe him so easily, or perhaps it was his own desire to know that he had not done anything to betray Oikawa. Regardless, it’s not something he wants to mull over.

“Right. Sorry,” he says in embarrassment as he takes out a sweaty hand to rub his neck, the blush ebbing away. A visible look of relief settles on his face, having known that he had not committed a scandalous thing like sleeping with a student, although that would also mean that his brain had actually conjured the most realistic dream he’s ever had.

Now that Iwaizumi’s got his answer (albeit the half-truth), Oikawa feels like he should get his too.

“You did say some strange things,” he continues rather suddenly.

It makes Iwaizumi look at him intently, not so much out of fear than curiosity. “What did I say?”

“You talked about your husband. You said you missed him.”

That, more than anything, catches Iwaizumi’s attention.

“I said that?” he asks incredulously, not recollecting anything like that at all. Oikawa feels like hurling something at him; he was totally oblivious to how much his words had distressed him.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says and lets the silence drag for a moment. He decides to throw caution into the wind, determined to get the answers to the questions he had been agonizing over for the past day. He takes a shaky breath before saying, “You know Iwa-sensei, for someone who’s going through a divorce, you sure don’t act like it.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth twitches at the corner but he doesn’t say anything. He’s heard this before, from Kuroo, and he doesn’t need another reminder. How could he ever act like he isn’t in love with Oikawa Tooru, when that’s all he’s been even before he knew what love was?

Oikawa grows restless at the tiresome push-and-pull he’s been going at since the beginning, his voice a little agitated when he says, “I’m sorry for overstepping, but why are you doing this to yourself when you clearly still have feelings for him?”

Again, Iwaizumi answers as he averts his gaze, “You won’t understand.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking,” Oikawa responds in the next second, trying his hardest to tone down his exasperation but it still bleeds into the words that tumble out of his mouth. “Don’t you think your marriage can be saved? Maybe he wants to save it as much as you do. Maybe he’s sorry for whatever he’s done.”

“It’s not just about being sorry,” Iwaizumi snaps, growing vexed himself, because he’s sick of people assuming that apologizing is the panacea to their problems when the fact is that it’s not. “It’s about…”

He finds that he doesn’t know how to continue, because it’s never so simple and he isn’t eloquent enough to put what he feels into words right now. Iwaizumi pulls his eyebrows together, trying to hide the pain behind a frown, but he doesn’t quite succeed. (He wonders how Oikawa does it so easily.)

“He loves his life you know?” Iwaizumi finally says, voice strained at the end from having to admit it out loud. It’s a bitter relief, because while he’s able to say it after bottling it up for so long, it feels like an admittance of defeat.

“The life where he’s everyone’s favourite national player, with his face in magazines and billboards and ads,” Iwaizumi continues freely and then softly. “But that’s a life where I don’t belong.”

“Of course you do,” Oikawa cannot help but say.

“No, I don’t,” Iwaizumi cuts him off before he can say anything else. “How can I say I belong when I’m being kept like a secret?”

The question is like a slap to his cheek, but the effect is far more acute or lingering than any stinging of the skin. Oikawa stands frozen on the spot, because how could he have missed this, when it was always and only Iwa-chan who knew him inside out, who read between all the lines, and it shouldn’t be any different for him.

“I don’t want to be known as Oik—as his childhood friend or best friend or roommate,” Iwaizumi bites out. “Not anymore.”

Oikawa’s mouth is dry, empty of the words to defend himself. He knows this, he knows that Iwaizumi wanted to be able to say that they were together in every sense of the word. And Oikawa had promised that they’d tell people eventually, when the time is right.

And they had time, didn’t they?

“I love him, you know?” Iwaizumi says quietly and Oikawa’s heart stutters. “And I wanted the world to know that. But he didn’t. It hurt to be kept like a secret when I was so—so proud of him. I thought if I waited just a little bit longer…things would change, but I’ve given my time away and I’m tired. I’m tired of waiting and I’m tired of beating myself up over the fact that I don’t belong in this life, that what I can offer doesn’t stand a chance against what he has.”

Oikawa hates it, hates the face Iwaizumi’s making right now, hates himself more for being the one who put it there. There’s a hundred things he wants to say; he wants to tell Iwaizumi that he’s wrong, that he does belong and he does stand a chance, that he’s the one thing he’ll never give up. But he can’t bring himself to say it, because it’ll just make him a hypocrite.

“I don’t—” Iwaizumi breaks the uncomfortable silence, rubbing a hand over his wearied face. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

He knows though. He’d been keeping these emotions in for so long that if the only person he could admit them to came in the form of a strange student, then so be it. Iwaizumi sighs heavily before saying rather sheepishly, “Anyway, if I’ve made you uncomfortable with the things I’ve said, I apologize.”

“No…it’s okay,” Oikawa lies, hoping that the shadows would conceal how his face betrays his words.

“Don’t bother yourself with them,” Iwaizumi tells him, trying to sound dismissive. He hadn’t meant to divulge so much, and he’d better leave before he reveals anything more. “I’ll see you in school.”

Oikawa nods but makes no move to follow him back into the café and Iwaizumi doesn’t check to see if he does. He stands forlornly in the musty alley, with the cool air biting at his skin through his thin uniform but he doesn’t really feel it because the weight on his shoulders is far more onerous.

Was it supposed to feel this way? Finally knowing what went wrong? Iwaizumi wanted to tell the world, but now that they were getting a divorce, there was nothing to tell. It feels as if he’s been made fun of by the gods, or whoever decided that it would be funny to teach him a lesson through his 21-year-old self and then tell him that there was nothing he could do about it.

Oikawa, with all his experiences, knows that the truth can hurt. But he has no idea that it could gnaw your heart raw.

* * *

_“So Oikawa-san, tell us, what are you expecting for the upcoming Asian Championships?” the interviewer asks energetically and hovers the microphone in front of Oikawa. The men’s national volleyball team was being featured on J Sports to create some publicity for the competition (as if they needed it given Oikawa’s huge fanbase)._

_On the couch, Iwaizumi sits back lazily as he watches the programme at night. He had missed the original screening due to classes so he’s watching the rerun while waiting for his husband to come home. His eyes flicker to the clock and he notes that it’s getting pretty late._

_The vice-captain flashes his signature smile on the screen and says coolly, “The gold medal of course.”_

_Iwaizumi rolls his eyes but smiles anyway. The team’s done exceptionally well in the past few championships so he’s just as sure that Japan would clinch the gold this year again._

_“You’re very confident!” the interviewer points out happily._

_“That goes without saying. I believe in the team,” he declares and Iwaizumi recognizes that smile as a genuine one. A rare occurrence on national television._

_“And besides your team, is there anyone else that gives you this confidence?”_

_The interviewer has gone from overly-chirpy to impish and there’s an expectant smile on her face as she looks up at Oikawa with wiggling brows._

_“Hm?” Oikawa hums, tilting his head to the side._

_“A special someone perhaps?” she probes, raising the microphone higher. “Someone who’s cheering you on as you blaze your way through the competitions!”_

_“Oh!” Oikawa exclaims and laughs. “Now that’s quite forward.”_

_“Well, your fans are dying to know if the famous vice-captain of the national volleyball team has his own personal source of strength!”_

_Oikawa laughs again, blithe and whimsical. “Wouldn’t they be? I’m not involved with anyone so don’t worry, there’s enough Oikawa-sama to go around!”_

_He beams, a well-practiced smile reserved for the cameras and fans, and winks._

_Iwaizumi doesn’t hear the rest of the interview, too stunned to make sense of the words droning from his speakers. He sees Oikawa’s face though, that fake, charming smile, and the peace sign he puts up. For a moment he doesn’t understand why his heart is suddenly twisting, or why his nails are digging into the skin on his thigh. Oikawa’s been saying this since the beginning and Iwaizumi could understand why he needed to hide their relationship._

_He just didn’t understand how he could say it like that._

_He’d always been evasive in such interviews, and even if he couldn’t avoid the question, he’d play it off or switch the topic. It had never been like that. Like it was so easy for him. It makes his insides churn and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth but most of all, it breaks his heart._

_When Oikawa finally comes home after midnight, it’s in a state that irks Iwaizumi. His steps are imbalanced and he smells of alcohol, a stupid grin plastered on his face. Iwaizumi doesn’t even know what party it was tonight._

_“You’re late,” he states._

_“It’s a Friday night Iwa-chan!” he exclaims a little too loudly for the neighbours’ liking that’s for sure. He kicks his shoes off and they land haphazardly on each side of the entranceway. Iwaizumi sighs impatiently and goes to tidy them up but Oikawa catches him by the wrist and pulls him into the house._

_“The night is still young!” he giggles and tugs on Iwaizumi’s wrist so that their foreheads bump._

_Iwaizumi wasn’t in the mood for his antics, pulling his hands away from Oikawa’s clingy ones. He had intended to speak to him about the interview, but looking at his state right now, Iwaizumi suddenly feels drained._

_“Go wash up. You reek.”_

_“I didn’t even drink that much,” Oikawa complains and pouts when Iwaizumi merely heads up to their bedroom. “Aww Iwa-chan, are you mad?”_

_He pads after his partner, almost tripping him when he engulfs him in a back hug, wrapping his arms around his waist. Oikawa burrows his nose in Iwaizumi’s neck, planting playful kisses along his neck before biting on his earlobe._

_“We can fuck if you like,” he breathes into his ear and Iwaizumi shivers involuntarily. “I’ll let you if you ask nicely.”_

_“Cut it out,” Iwaizumi says testily, prying Oikawa’s hands away from his waist. But the setter pays no heed, instead he presses more closely into Iwaizumi’s back, fingers dipping into his waistband, and tries to slide his hands into his sweatpants._

_“I said stop it, Oikawa,” he raises his voice this time and wrenches Oikawa’s hands away, turning to glower at him._

_Oikawa stumbles back and has to grab onto the couch to balance himself. There’s a heavy pause between them as Oikawa stares his own daggers at Iwaizumi, affronted by his reaction._

_“What’s wrong with you?” he accuses._

_“Nothing, I—”_

_He stops himself there, reluctant to deal with this when they’re both riled up._

_“You what?” Oikawa demands and his tone rubs Iwaizumi the wrong way. Fuck this, he’s done being the one to always give in._

_“I saw your interview,” he snaps, jaw tightening when the words fall out of his mouth._

_“What interview?” Oikawa asks, confused._

_“The one with J Sports, where they featured your team for the Asian Championships.”_

_“What about it?”_

_“Really Tooru?” Iwaizumi asks in disbelief, amazed that Oikawa can be so clueless (but if he was being honest, he was just angry that Oikawa could be so clueless about hurting him)._

_“Iwa-chan, stop playing games with me!” Oikawa huffs petulantly._

_“Games? Seriously?” Iwaizumi scoffs, nose wrinkling in distaste. “You’re the one who claims he’s not involved with anyone and then comes home looking for a quick fuck.”_

_His words are brusque and part of him wishes he hadn’t said it at all. But the other part of him wishes he had said it sooner._

_Oikawa matches his severe expression with his own, mouth curling up when he retorts, “_ That’s _what you’re offended about?”_

 _“I’m not_ offended _, I—do you even know what your problem is?” he asks exasperatedly._

 _“_ My _problem? It seems to me that you’re the one with a problem, getting pissy at me all of a sudden!” Oikawa shouts._

_At this point, Iwaizumi is past being angry, he just wonders how Oikawa could be so blind to the weight of his actions. If Oikawa wanted to stop playing games, then they might as well stop this whole charade of pretending they’re not together._

_“You said you weren’t involved with anyone,” Iwaizumi states, voice lower than before._

_“That’s what I always say!” Oikawa asserts, growing more and more perplexed. “We agreed on it.”_

_Iwaizumi bites his lip. He knows that. Yet he wants so much to be able to say that Oikawa’s his husband and for Oikawa to do the same. He wants to be able to pull down the curtains and say that the show’s over, that this is the truth, but Oikawa wants the show to keep running. He doesn’t seem to want the same thing._

_When Iwaizumi doesn’t offer a reply, Oikawa adds accusingly, “You think I like lying in front of the camera all the time?”_

_“Then why do you make it look like it’s so easy for you?”_

_It’s the look in his eyes, a broken one that Oikawa’s never seen before, that hits him harder than the question itself._

_“It’s not…”_

_Oikawa swallows, lets his voice die down. Don’t make that face, he wants to say, but the words are all caught up in his throat._

_Iwaizumi sees that Oikawa cannot finish his sentence, and wonders if it’s because he knows he’d be lying. It hurts, to see Oikawa’s smiling face when he tells everyone he’s single, to be unable to hold his hand in public, to hide his face among the crowds of fans at every game, to pretend it doesn’t matter that he’s the one who gets left behind when Oikawa advances ahead in life, as if he had anything to worry about for not being born a genius in the first place._

_Ironically, it’s Iwaizumi who has to worry about being left behind. He’s just the guy who fell in love with his best friend instead of volleyball, the one who doesn’t fit in a world of fame and glory. He waited for a time he would, but he’s done waiting. He must not have been enough, for Oikawa to not want to acknowledge him._

_“I can’t do this anymore, Tooru.”_

_It comes out choked, like he finally figured out what’s wrong but it shatters his world in the process._

_“Iwa-chan, what are you talking about?”_

_He grabs the nearest jacket, his university hoodie, and walks out the door, ignoring Oikawa’s baffled cries._

_“Hajime!”_

_Two days later, Iwaizumi files for a divorce._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's how it happened. The various hints in the flashbacks and the incident that triggered the divorce.
> 
> And you all must be like, finally, some smut!! Yet…not really…patience.
> 
> By the way, the Asian Championships takes place in different countries each time and conveniently, it’s happening in Japan this year…yay…I’ve also modified the timeline of the games to fit the plot. Don’t mind! And according to AO3, it's still my birthday! Kudos and comments are always appreciated~


	10. To Right a Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is REALLY it guys.

After the grave encounter with Iwaizumi in the back alley of Kara Café, Oikawa has an overwhelming urge to speak to Iwaizumi in his 31-year-old state of mind. So that’s exactly what he does.

He leaves the café right on the dot, ignoring his colleagues’ baffled stares, and makes his way home.

Their two-storey house at the end of the street remains unchanged, yet Oikawa feels a little out of place when he steps into the entranceway. He doesn’t bother with the lights, surveying the place with only the moonlight streaming in from the windows. It looks the same as always, maybe just a bit dustier with the lack of occupants, but it feels vastly different.

The homely atmosphere is gone, replaced by an air of loneliness that settles on Oikawa’s shoulders. It has always only been the two of them, but somehow, Iwaizumi made the place the way it is: comfortable, safe and warm. Without him, the house could scarcely be called a home at all.

Oikawa shrugs off his jacket, leaving himself in a white, long-sleeved cotton shirt, and begins a hunt for his phone. It takes him upstairs to his bedroom and he tries to ignore the fact that he was just here the night before, preoccupied with finding release that he didn’t stop to think about how wrong it was. Even so, it had been sinfully good to be touching an Iwaizumi who was ten years older than he was. He wonders if Iwaizumi remembers how it feels like to touch him, with smoother skin and more pliant limbs.

He shakes the thoughts from his mind, refocusing himself on his task. There’s no point in imagining what could have been. Oikawa eventually finds his phone on the desk, buried under loose papers. Expectedly, it has run out of battery so he plugs the charger in, sitting cross-legged by the outlet and leaning against the wall as he waits for his phone to start up.

The screen lights up, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room, and Oikawa isn’t fazed by the hundred over notifications he has gotten. He ignores those from social media and immediately opens his Line app. As he scrolls through the chats, he notices some are from his mother, his sponsorship agents and a few spammers. He reaches familiar names that belong to his teammates and finds one from Ushiwaka. Scrunching his nose in displeasure, he skips that one.

At the top of the page is Iwa-chan’s name and a little green circle with the number ‘21’. What’s there to talk about, now that they were going their separate ways? Oikawa taps on the name when the screen darkens from the lack of activity, wondering why his fingers are hesitating. It’s just Iwa-chan.

 **_Iwa-chan~_ ** **_♥_ **

_The next meeting with the lawyers is on tue, 2pm [Sent 11:09 am]_

_Can u make it? [Sent 11:10 am]_

_I need to confirm the date with Akaashi [Sent 1:30 pm]_

_Let me know when u’re back from kyushu [Sent 5:31 pm]_

_And let me know in advance. I have to tell the lawyers so we can set another meeting [Sent 5:33 pm]_

Just messages about the divorce, Oikawa thinks sullenly. Then again, what did he expect? He scrolls up the chat mindlessly, half-glad that he had gotten a new phone and totally chucked this one aside. It would have made it more depressing to receive such messages when he was trying to save their marriage.

_Have u reached kyushu? [Sent 7:13 am]_

Oikawa blinks when he reads that message, quite surprised that Iwaizumi had even asked. If he had actually gone to Kyushu, the answer would have been a yes. Sitting up, Oikawa reads on.

_U know, it’d be good if u didn’t just vanish to kyushu without replying my texts… [Sent 8:41 pm]_

_Oi, shittykawa [Sent 8:55 pm]_

_Did u even bring your phone with u? [Sent 11:04 pm]_

_Are u dead [Sent 11:36 pm]_

Iwa-chan is angry…for some reason, it amuses Oikawa but the smile on his lips is a wry one. Iwaizumi has a rather aggressive way of showing he cares and Oikawa can almost feel it through his texts. It clicks in his mind then, that Iwaizumi cared.

_Are u still in kyushu? [Sent: 6:00 pm]_

_It’s taking pretty long isn’t it? [Sent 6:01 pm]_

_Let me know when u’re back yeah? [6:03 pm]_

It’s several days later that the next few messages come in.

_Oikawa are u there? I’ve tried calling a few times but I can’t reach u [Sent 10:40 pm]_

_Is everything ok? [Sent 10:47 pm]_

_Even if u’re angry at me, just let me know u’re fine [Sent 11:59 pm]_

Oikawa releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, shoulders shaking under the thin fabric. After all that is said and done, Iwaizumi cared. He still does; Oikawa remembers him saying he loves him. He remembers also, the way he’d said it, like he had given his whole heart to Oikawa only to receive a bit of his in return. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, to realize that he’s been short-changing Iwaizumi all this time.

He reads the last message again; Iwaizumi hadn’t asked Oikawa to stop being angry, he only asked for him to be safe. And Oikawa is reminded of the fact that Iwa-chan has always been simple, always wanted the simple things.

Yet he asked of him the world.

_Don’t tell them we’re together; it’s better this way. It’s not time yet. Wait for me after practice? Sorry I’m late Iwa-chan! Sit behind the fans okay? Meet me at the back after the match? Not yet, Hajime, not yet._

Oikawa feels his eyes sting as he bites back the tears. Screwing them shut, he stands up abruptly, phone falling to the floor and starts pacing around the room to stop himself from wallowing. There’s probably not much he can do, but he wants to talk to Iwaizumi, wants to hear his voice, even if he’s only going to scold him.

Exhaling sharply, Oikawa picks up his phone, opening up Iwaizumi’s contact. As his finger hovers over the call button, an unfamiliar scene peeks from the corner of his vision. He looks up and out the window, which overlooks the backyard and what greets him snatches the air out of his lungs.

In their backyard stands a small structure, made of wood and with a tinted glass roof, which Oikawa has never seen in his life. His mind races back to that day when he got socked by Kyoutani and found out that Iwaizumi intended to build _something_ in their house.

So it was this…thing. A gazebo, he had mentioned. Oikawa is left stumped, clueless as to what it was exactly and why Iwaizumi had built it. Without wasting another moment, he takes off down the stairs and pulls the doors to the backyard open, shuddering when the cold air meets his skin. He steps barefooted to the feature, staring at it in amazement.

Iwa-chan had built this himself?

Licking his lips, Oikawa presses a hand to the door. It’s a sliding door, he notes, and there’s a nice dark brown finish to the wood. There are tinted windows around the feature as well and Oikawa’s fingers tremble in anticipation when he slides the door open.

It’s a little anti-climactic too see it pretty empty, considering how mysterious it looks from the outside. The space is small but cosy; there’s a low table on one side, with a couple of armchairs around it. On the other side is an elevated platform spanning about one-third of the space and completely bare, except for a lone piece of paper that sits in the middle.

Curious, Oikawa pads towards the platform, picking up the paper that’s no bigger than his palm. Iwaizumi’s unmistakable handwriting looks back up at him.

_I can’t make meteor showers happen, but at least you can enjoy the stars whenever you like. I’m sorry I can’t keep all my promises to you, but this is one that I can._

_\- Hajime_

It takes a while to decipher what Iwaizumi is talking about but Oikawa remembers. It’s a promise uttered under the stars, on top of an old SUV, a promise he had long forgotten. He hadn’t taken it seriously then, but as usual, Iwaizumi hands him the world and then more.

The ink runs when his tears fall, spreading the impeccable kanji until it blends messily with the words.

Oikawa raises his head and sure enough, the black sky blankets him from above. Just like that day in the open field on the outskirts of Tokyo. This time though, the sky is starless and only the moon stares down at him and even then, Oikawa finds it breath-taking. Everything is clear under the glass roof and it feels like the sky is swallowing him whole. Oikawa wishes it would.

He doesn’t deserve this.

It’s so unfair, that Iwaizumi still makes his heart clench even when he’s about to break it, that he thinks he might never be Oikawa’s world but still makes him his.

The tears spill from his eyes, dripping down to stain his shirt and Oikawa wipes at them angrily, jostling his glasses in the process. He tells himself harshly that he has lost the right to cry, ever since he took from Hajime and kept taking…and taking…and taking.

What does he have to offer now? The least he could do is stop.

So maybe that’s it.

Maybe all he has to do is stop. He recalls Iwaizumi’s tired face and aggrieved eyes, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was the source of it. Maybe all he has to do is stop taking.

This whole plan is a fucking joke anyway. What’s the point of figuring it out when you’re left with no choice? He’s probably committed something horrible in his past life for whoever’s orchestrating this to screw with him like that. Why give him a second chance only to tell him that all he can do is let go?

Fine, so he loses this time.

Of all things, he has to let go of the one thing most important to him. Oikawa feels it in his bones, how it’s the hardest thing to do.

He sniffles loudly, dragging his sleeve over his wet nose and holds up his phone with shivering fingers. He finally presses that call button and as the line rings, he takes a deep breath.

Iwaizumi’s voice reaches his ear after the fourth ring.

_“Tooru?”_

He sounds worried, surprised and relieved all at once. Oikawa bites on his lip to stop it from quivering. He makes it a point to lower his voice purposefully when he speaks.

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

It’s an awful attempt at covering up how shaken he is and predictably, Iwaizumi picks up on it.

_“Are you okay?”_

There’s a plethora of things Iwaizumi wants to say, like admonish him for not returning any calls or texts until now for a start, and questions on how it’s panning out in Kyushu, when he’s coming back, what about the upcoming game? But the first thing he notices is the tremor in the way his nickname is uttered, like he had been crying, and everything else is pushed aside.

 _“Tooru?”_ he calls again, concern more evident than before.

Oikawa’s chest twists painfully at the sound of his name. He probably would not be able to hear his name from Iwaizumi’s lips anymore and it fills him with the worst kind of sorrow.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, more of an attempt to console himself than an answer to Iwaizumi’s question. He swallows thickly and adds before Iwaizumi can say a word, “I’ll be back next week.”

 _“I see…”_ he says, and realizes the significance of ‘next week’. It’ll be the start of the Asian Championships. _“The game…”_

He contemplates on whether he should probe because it sounds to him like Oikawa’s lying about being fine. He has half a mind to propose meeting right now, but Oikawa speaks again.

“I won’t be playing,” he tells him and finds that it doesn’t hurt. Not as much as letting go of Iwaizumi. He knows Iwaizumi is frowning on the other line, eyebrows scrunching together in that adorably angry expression he wears. After all, no one knows better than him how much the games meant to Oikawa, so he finds his supposed calmness suspicious.

Oikawa wants to laugh bitterly at the cruelty of it all. Instead, his breath catches in his throat. “Will you—will you still go?”

_It’s the last I’ll ask of you, I promise._

_“Yeah,”_ Iwaizumi says, low and certain. _“Yeah, I’ll be there.”_

His assurance, given so easily and willingly despite everything, is the last nail in the coffin.

Oikawa clamps a hand over his mouth, curling his fingers in so that his nails dig into his lips mercilessly. He needs to hang up now, he thinks. It’s getting too much to pretend this doesn’t hurt, too difficult to hold back his anguish, his anger, his tears. He holds the phone away for a moment, breathing in heavily before pressing it to his ear again.

“Thanks Iwa-chan, we can talk then.”

_“Tooru—”_

“Goodbye, Iwa-chan.”

He’s got it all wrong. All this time, he’s had it all wrong.

He’s always got Iwaizumi. That much stayed true no matter what. Iwaizumi didn’t change throughout the years. He still loves Oikawa entirely, just as much as he did when they got married, when they moved in together, when they graduated, when he decided that he’d give up anything for him in a heartbeat.

Iwaizumi was there every step of the way, a constant, unwavering presence. Oikawa didn’t see him all the time, just knew that he was always there and will always be there when he needs him.

Because it was Iwa-chan after all.

It was Oikawa who changed. He was consumed by his obsession to be best, blinded by his insecurities, too hung up on things that will pass to pay attention to things that will stay.

The plan was never to find out what went wrong in their relationship or simply to mend that broken part. It was to find out what he could change about himself.

If he thought there was a point in time during their marriage where it all went wrong, then he is sorely mistaken, because it was never a single point in time. It was the constant weight of his actions, deliberate or not, that pulled on the red strings until they snapped.

And he thinks it’s too late now to fix it. Oikawa wonders how he could have fucked up so badly.

He didn’t want to lose what he had. The successful career, the fame, the acceptance…and that sort of thing, once you lose it, it’s very hard to get it back. But losing Hajime, as he had found out, is much worse.

* * *

The next evening, Kuroo is on his way out of the gym after some post-practice practice when he hears the distinctive sound of volleyballs hitting the hardwood floor. His brow quirks inquisitively, there shouldn’t be anyone here at this time. He was pretty certain he had been the last one to leave. After all, Kenma had told him that he’d be home late because the new release was coming out soon and Kuroo had offered to take him out to supper, using his remaining time to get some extra practice in with his fellow blocker. And his practice partner had already left.

Curiously, he heads to the court that they’d been using and opens the door slowly to get a peek. When he discovers who it is, Kuroo makes a sound of disbelief and flings the door open.

“Oikawa, what are you doing here? You might get seen you know?” Kuroo whispers fiercely although they were alone and makes sure to close the doors behind him.

He strides over to his vice-captain, who doesn’t seem to have heard him or if he did, is doing a great job at ignoring him. He’s about to chastise him for being careless (slightly surprised that he’d be so concerned, but perhaps it’s because of how young Oikawa is and how helpless he looked these couple of days?) but stops himself when he notices the expression he was wearing.

His eyes are red and puffy, as if he’d cried himself dry, and the skin tight around his jaw like he’d been clenching his teeth. He goes up for serve after serve, but it doesn’t look like he’s practising at all. To be precise, he’s merely venting, releasing all his pent-up frustration and misery into the familiar motion of jump serves. Old habits are hard to break.

Kuroo sighs, he’s too inexperienced to be dealing with things like this.

“Oikawa,” he calls again, louder this time but he’s ignored once more. Kuroo can sense though, that Oikawa’s at his limit, if the way he stumbles and the way he presses his lips together are anything to go by. He asks quietly, “What the hell are you doing?”

Oikawa doesn’t go for another serve, just grips the ball in his hands and stares down at it, pulling his lip between his teeth but it trembles anyway. He was wrong about having cried himself dry, as fresh tears patter on the rubber and slide down the ball.

“I’m done,” he manages to say. There are tear tracks on his face when he looks up at Kuroo, who has never seen Oikawa look so _young_. The normally pompous Oikawa, now appearing as if he’d fought the world and lost. “I’m not—I’m not going to try and win Iwa-chan back anymore.”

His breath comes out sharp at the end and Kuroo doesn’t know what to do. Oikawa can’t possibly mean that. Iwaizumi is everything to him, there’s no way he could give up. Maybe he just needs to sort out his thoughts.

“Why not?”

Oikawa tilts his head up to blink back tears.

_Because he’s better off without me? Because I don’t deserve him?_

Instead, he says, “Did you know…that he sits for hours at the café waiting for me to finish practice? That he attends every home game but sits behind the fans so he won’t get noticed? That he keeps promises even I forget?”

Kuroo isn’t sure what Oikawa’s driving at so he stays silent. The setter releases the ball and lets it roll away pitifully.

“If it weren’t for me, he doesn’t even need to do these things,” he grits out.

“I’m sure he does it because he wants to,” Kuroo points out truthfully.

“And that’s the problem you see?” Oikawa says, and he has to force the words out. “He’s going to keep giving and I’m just going to keep taking because that’s all I know how to do. That’s all I’ve been doing and I—”

His voice cracks.

“God I love him so much and I _fucked_ up.”

His whole body quivers and Oikawa wonders how he could still feel so empty when all he did was take.

“Oikawa…”

“I’m sorry Kuroo,” he apologizes after gathering himself with a shuddering breath. “I…I want to be alone for now. I’ll lock up the gym.”

Kuroo hesitates, reluctant to leave his teammate alone in such a sorry state but he doesn’t know what else he could do to help.

“Please.”

Left without much choice, Kuroo nods.

“Okay.”

He leaves the gym quietly, knowing that the moment he steps out, Oikawa will break.

* * *

The days seem to pass him by in a blur and it’s Monday before he knows it, the start of the Asian Championships. Oikawa has always felt the rush of excitement when it comes to games but now he just feels numb. He doesn’t register how he spent his days, probably sleeping to skip school and work, cutting himself off from the world until the need to emerge comes around.

It does eventually, and he finds himself surrounded by a sea of people in the Tokyo Metropolitan Gym. It’s such a joke to be the one sitting in the spectator stands instead of playing on the court. What used to be the welcomed cheers from the fans are now white noise in the background. Oikawa forces himself to watch Japan’s side of the court and notes that Kageyama is on the starting line-up, just like what Kuroo said.

His face doesn’t twist into its usual scowl and he merely watches the younger boy (though he is definitely younger than him right now) as he warms up. How tiring it has been, to treat him like an enemy all this while.

Iwa-chan is supposed to be here, he thinks. There’s something he needs to finish today and he scans the crowd for him, surveying his side of the stands then the opposite side. It doesn’t take him long to spot him in the crowd because all Oikawa had to do is find his hordes of fan, and they’re not too difficult to locate. Iwaizumi is seated right across from him, behind the cheering fans, wearing a casual white tee with a Nike windbreaker and black pants.

Oikawa smiles endearingly; Iwa-chan looks good in sports brands. He’s fiddling with his phone, but his eyes are trained on the court. He looks down expectantly, hoping to find Oikawa there somewhere. He might have said he would not be playing, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be on the court. Iwaizumi’s eyes dart around but isn’t able to find a certain brown-haired setter.

Oikawa sees his shoulders deflate visibly.

He wonders if Iwaizumi really wanted to see him. He did say he missed him though, in a drunken stupor not long ago. Oikawa wants to laugh resentfully. He can’t believe he has to do this, let go of Iwaizumi, and even now, part of him doesn’t want to do it.

Shoving that selfish part of him down, Oikawa whips out his phone, forcing himself to stop stalling. He’s fully aware that he’s still in his 21-year-old form and revealing to Iwaizumi that he’s in fact Oikawa Tooru would undoubtedly freak him out. Yet, that’s the least of his worries.

He keys in the phone number that’s seared into his memory, composing a message that would surely get Iwaizumi’s attention—and waits.

The phone buzzes in his hands and Iwaizumi gives up trying to spot Oikawa in favour of checking his messages. It’s from an unknown number and Iwaizumi frowns; he never gives away his number freely. The message contains just two words— _look across_ —and Iwaizumi does so inadvertently.

His eyes skim over the unfamiliar faces of strangers, wondering what is it that he’s supposed to see, until one catches his eye. It’s the face of his student, the problematic one that resembles so much like Tooru. He sits across from him, sandwiched between two strangers, looking so out of place in the stands. For a moment, Iwaizumi isn’t too sure if he was the one who texted him or if this is a coincidence, but Oikawa dispels any uncertainty when he smiles quietly and gives him a small wave.

There are two questions that immediately come to mind: how did he get his number, and since when did he watch volleyball games?

Iwaizumi’s prepared to text back a reply but Oikawa holds his attention as he moves, slow and deliberate, like he’s showing it only for Iwaizumi.

He puts his phone away and surreptitiously, presses the tips of his fingers to his lips and kisses the pads. Without breaking eye contact with him, Oikawa throws the imaginary kiss into the air, like he would when he’s executing a jump serve, and pretends to spike it into the stands in exactly the same way he does when he’s Oikawa Tooru, setter of national volleyball team.

Iwaizumi’s blood freezes in his veins because the person who did that is Ohara Tooru isn’t it? The bespectacled Kyoto kid who appeared in front of him all of sudden…and conveniently when Oikawa Tooru disappeared. How could he—how could he have known—

He stands up abruptly, startling the people beside him and murmurs a few ‘excuse me’s as he trips his way down the stairs. There’s no way Ohara was privy to their secret message unless…god, was he seeing things right now? Had he mistaken Ohara and Oikawa again, or was Oikawa really here? Coupled with the concerning phone call he received yesterday…Rattled, Iwaizumi breaks into a run out of the gym, needing some air.

Instinctively, Oikawa gets up to follow after Iwaizumi, his heart pounding in his chest as he stumbles over people’s legs. He can’t lose sight of Iwaizumi now, not when he has so many things to tell him, so many thing to apologize for. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best way to drop the truth like that on him and his mind must be reeling from shock.

Clicking his tongue in frustration, Oikawa sprints out of the gym and down the corridors, searching for Iwaizumi frantically until there seems to be no one else but him. As a last resort, he heads towards the exit along darker hallways and it seems like the corridors are getting narrower and the lanes are curving. His vision swims and his head throbs with a drumming sound that drowns out everything else. His skin prickles and his muscles tingle with a weird sensation. Squeezing his eyes shut, Oikawa holds onto the wall for support and waits for the episode to pass.

When it eventually does, his vision is blurry, like his glasses aren’t working. Not now, he thinks, he still needs to find Iwa-chan.

“I’m over here,” a voice calls out from behind and Oikawa jumps in his skin.

He spins on his heel and meets face-to-face with none other than Iwaizumi, who’s wearing an unreadable expression, like he’s just seen the most inexplicable thing in the world and trying to convince himself that he’s still sane.

“Iwa-chan!!” Oikawa exclaims and is shocked to find that his voice is a little lower than before.

As much as he can glean from staring down at himself and patting himself in random places, Oikawa realizes that he’s slightly bigger, his hair is back to its original hairstyle and that his vision is still unclear even with the glasses.

“So it’s really you,” he says in disbelief, studying Oikawa carefully.

“Iwa-chan! I’m back!” he cries out, flipping his palms over and over and grabbing hysterically at his chest and arms and neck. He snatches the glasses off his nose and tosses it to the ground, barrelling at Iwaizumi and almost knocking him into the wall. “Oh my god, I’m back.”

“Back from your 21-year-old self you mean?” Iwaizumi asks, surprised at how miraculously calm he sounds. It’s the shock. It’s definitely the shock. He’s going to scream his lungs out when it dawns on him how outrageous this all seems.

“Yes!” Oikawa shouts, growing frantic by the second. He grips Iwaizumi’s shoulder as he spouts, “And I got it all wrong! I thought I was supposed to figure out what went wrong between us but it turns out that—”

“Woah slow down,” Iwaizumi tells him, holding him by the elbows. “This is really bizarre for me. Maybe you can start with why you were your 21-year-old self in the first place?”

“I met my spirit guide. This janitor,” Oikawa answers, like it shed any light at all. When Iwaizumi still pins him with a bewildered look, he continues quickly, “This…janitor! Turns up and suddenly transforms me into my 21-year-old self because I said I wished I could go back so that I can figure out what went wrong. I thought the best way was to pretend to be your student so I can get close to you but it wasn’t very effective because you were so tight-lipped—”

Oikawa’s hands are flailing about wildly as he recounts the whole incident and Iwaizumi listens to every word intently although this is honestly a lot to take in.

“—about _everything_! And it had to take copious amounts of alcohol for me to realize what’s been wrong this whole time!”

Iwaizumi blushes at the recollection. So it was really Oikawa he almost slept with that night.

“And I saw the gazebo in the backyard—” he hiccups, his frenzied rambling punctuated by sniffles. Shit, he didn’t want to cry. “I can’t believe you even remembered and built that thing you idiot…”

Iwaizumi stares at him quietly.

“I’m sorry for forgetting,” he starts to apologize, his mind in a total mess and head bent low so Iwaizumi can’t see how much he’s crying. “Just like I’m sorry for a hundred other things. I’m sorry for the way it made you feel when I didn’t want people to know about us. I hadn’t known what it meant…but I know now and I—”

His breath hitches when he looks up to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes, soft and understanding like Oikawa has always known.

There had been so many things he wanted to tell Iwa-chan but now that it has come down to this, really…there’s only one thing he wants to say.

A completely Oikawa-like thing to say.

“I wanted to let you go…” he admits ruefully, trembling with fear as he forces his words out. “But I can’t…Iwa-chan, I just can’t. I know I don’t deserve you, but you know me…I want you anyway.”

His voice cracks, broken and pained, and it makes Iwaizumi want to fix him.

Oikawa starts crying again, not the loud wails he used to exclaim when they were younger, but the quiet kind where he just lets his eyes grow red and swollen and lets the snot run from his nose unattractively. The kind where he bites his lips in shame until Iwaizumi has to gently pull on his bottom lip so it doesn’t bleed. He clutches the hem of Iwaizumi’s windbreaker, digging his nails into the fabric and ignoring how the zipper cuts through his skin. Iwaizumi notices and goes to hold Oikawa’s hands, gently pulling them away. The skin is red and he strokes a finger tenderly over the sore spot.

He brings up his thumb to wipe at Oikawa’s tears. His face might have been sculpted by the gods, but he sure is an ugly crier.

“Tooru,” he calls softly. “Finding out that you transformed into your 21-year-old self and have been stalking me since is quite unbelievable in itself. But the only thing I still can’t believe is that I’m in love with a dumbass like you.”

Oikawa hiccups, eyes growing as wide as saucers. “Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi sighs, rubbing his neck tiredly. “This whole divorce…it took a lot to go through with it. And I wish that things didn’t have to end this way.”

“It still doesn’t have to,” Oikawa is quick to say but Iwaizumi hesitates to take his word for it.

“Tooru, I can’t go back to the way it was before,” he tells him firmly, shaking his head. “If you truly meant what you said, then you’d understand how it can’t be like that anymore. Things have to change.”

“And they will,” Oikawa tells him resolutely.

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer, but searches Oikawa’s face, finding sincerity and hope. He loves Oikawa and he wants so much to give themselves another chance, but he’s also afraid of letting history repeat itself. Oikawa seems to realize that.

“I’ll show you,” he says purposefully, stepping closer to Iwaizumi and holding his hand more tightly. He makes sure to meet his green eyes when he tells him, “Stay. It’s going to be different.”

He closes the distance between them, and hopes his words will reach him.

“Stay with me, Hajime,” he says in a low voice and Iwaizumi meets his lips halfway.

* * *

Oikawa received an earful from his coach when he finally showed his face during practice. He was scolded so severely that his team felt bad for him, even though they were kind of pissed with his disappearing act as well. Even Ushijima tried to comfort him, only to receive a scowl from Oikawa.

Needless to say, he was told he’d be benched for the rest of the competition and Oikawa couldn’t argue with that. Regardless, he put in his best effort during practices and behaved with maturity during the games, going as far as to throw a couple of offhand praises to Kageyama (whose eyes sparkled with an annoying mix of shock and awe).

He had immersed himself in practice because Iwaizumi had wanted him to. He told him it wouldn’t be fair to him if he simply let the games pass him by without trying his best and he didn’t want Oikawa to have any regrets. After all, he could never have predicted being thrown into this entire turning-back-to-my-21-year-old-self affair.

Oikawa had been hesitant but Iwaizumi gave him his assurance, choosing to trust that Oikawa would keep his word.

And so Oikawa fell into his role as a vice-captain, leading the team with Ushijima, and as a setter, relied on and trusted by his teammates, hoping that perhaps, the coach would put him back into the games.

His time came on the last day of the Asian Championships, when Japan was up against Kazakhstan in the match to determine who wins gold. The first set already spells trouble for Japan, who only manages to take the set with a five-point lead, having struggled against Kazakhstan’s formidable defence. The second set goes to Kazakhstan and by the third set, it becomes apparent that they’d need a new strategy if they wanted gold.

With two sets already in Kazakhstan’s pocket, the coach makes the risky decision of changing their play to a 5-1 formation.

“Oikawa, you’re up,” the coach says, beady eyes still facing the court.

“Huh? Really?!” Oikawa exclaims as a couple of his teammates clap him on the back, hoping that he could turn the game in their favour.

“You know what to do in such a formation, don’t you?” the coach asks in lieu of providing a direct answer. Of course he does. As the only setter in such a play, there’s no one better to set than Oikawa, who understands the quirks and tricks of his teammates. Kageyama is a genius no doubt but he also comes with a tendency to be less cooperative and as a result, hasn’t familiarized himself with the intricacies of every player yet.

“Yes, I do,” he answers and the excitement is evident in his voice.

“Their defence is something…” his coach adds and fixes Oikawa with a challenging glare. “So I expect you to get some service aces in.”

“Yes sir!” he shouts and jogs to the court, nodding at Kageyama who takes the number from him.

The crowd goes wild at his sudden entrance and even the commentators bring it up.

_“An unexpected member change! The famous Oikawa Tooru, who has been out of the championships until now, is finally making an appearance! Looks like Japan is switching things up!”_

Oikawa’s blood courses hotly through his veins as he takes his position at the serving line. The cheers are overwhelming but he looks directly to his right, where Iwaizumi sits in the one of the front rows. He catches his smile and Oikawa suddenly feels invincible.

The first jump serve he executes, powerfully elegant and impeccably calculated, is a service ace.

* * *

“Oikawa-san! Oikawa-san!” a sprightly reporter calls out to the vice-captain of the team who has just clinched the gold title. Unfortunately for her, her voice is drowned out by the cacophony of other eager interviewers.

The setter suddenly finds himself thrust with microphones from various news channels and sports programmes and he has to take a step back as the interviewers crowd him in. The fanfare is not surprising, given that Oikawa’s performance on the court has led them to winning the next two sets consecutively and effectively crowning Japan as the champion again.

“Wow wow,” he whistles, holding up his hands to calm them down. “One at a time please.”

An opportunistic interviewer opens with the first question, “How do you feel about your spectacular performance today after staying away from the games for the past month?”

“Did your break have anything to do with your performance today?” another one interjects immediately after.

“I feel great,” Oikawa beams a genuine smile as he turns to the first interviewer to answer her. “And to be honest, a little surprised. But most of all, I’m grateful. To my coach who decided to put me in, my teammates who never stopped trusting me and someone who’s always stood by me.”

Before any of the interviewers can follow up with another question to Oikawa’s cryptic words, he turns to the second interviewer to reply evasively, “And to your question, the short answer is yes.”

“Oikawa-san!” the first interviewer exclaims. “May we know who this ‘someone’ is?!”

Iwaizumi watches everything from where he sits, Oikawa’s dumb face and cheeky smile plastered all over the large screen. While the fans are going crazy with anticipation, Iwaizumi feels like screaming internally.

“Oho, I thought you’d never ask,” Oikawa says with playful sarcasm. There’s a devious glint in his eyes when he takes the microphone from her.

And Iwaizumi’s heart almost stops.

“I want to thank someone who’s stood by me all this time!” he practically shouts into the microphone, going high on adrenaline. “Who’s always believed in me and taught me to be the best version of myself…the ace of my heart and my husband, Iwaizumi Hajime!!! I LOVE YOU IWA-CHAN!”

As if that wasn’t enough, Oikawa stares straight at Iwaizumi and just like he does before every match, spikes a kiss to him on national fucking TV.

Iwaizumi’s jaw hangs open unglamorously as he tries to register the fact that Oikawa Tooru has just revealed to the whole damn world that they were married.

And now it’s his face that’s plastered all over the large screen as the cameras zoom in to him. The crowd goes absolutely bonkers and even the international fans are screaming, amazed at such a bold declaration of love. Heating up with the highest level of embarrassment, Iwaizumi covers his burning face in his palms and almost falls back in surprise when Oikawa runs towards the spectator stands to engulf him in a hug.

He’s laughing and crying at the same time and no matter how embarrassed Iwaizumi is right now, he can’t help but laugh along while the interviewers are trying to get the scoop like piranhas after red meat.

At the side lines where the Japanese volleyball team watches with an interesting mix of shock and amusement, the coach solemnly pats Ushijima on the shoulder.

“Ushijima, please go feed yourself to the sharks,” he instructs because nobody can kill the mood better than Ushiwaka can.

* * *

 **A/N:** [HERE](http://site.unbeatablesale.com/EB021/gzpn003.gif) is how the gazebo in the backyard looks like if you want to know and [HERE](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f5/c2/45/f5c245cfe79d245fc6c652acfb610e3d.jpg) is how Iwaizumi looks like at the games. Good shit.

And I’M SORRY IF MY VOLLEYBALL JARGON DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. I CAN’T SPEAK SPORTS LANGUAGE OTL.

THAT SAID, you all can get off the angst train now. From here on out, it’s FLUFF. Then again, there’s only one last chapter left!! Please look forward to it!! Thank you for all your support!


	11. You Still Got Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this chapter alone has like 12k words. WHY IS THERE SO MUCH IWAOI TO WRITE. Anyway, rating goes up because the nerds finally get it on. Please enjoy.

Iwaizumi is still drowsy with sleep when he feels a soft blowing at the side of his neck. It tickles. Mumbling incoherently, he turns to his side and the tickling sensation effectively disappears. But that’s not the end of his disturbances. There’s a rustling of the sheets and soon after, a weight comfortably settles on his hips.

Heavy.

Iwaizumi cracks his eyes open and rubs away the last vestiges of sleep. He’s never one to be sappy with his words, but when his vision focuses, he is greeted with a beautiful sight, one he would never get tired of.

Oikawa looms over him, brown hair still mussed from sleep and sitting on Iwaizumi’s hips like he belongs there. The oversized white tee that he had bought from America during one of the games hangs loosely on his shoulders and Iwaizumi can see that he’s all long limbs and pale skin and it does strange things to his heart and somewhere else. He’s past trying to figure out if it’s a blessing or a curse and just goes with both.

His gaze drops to where the shirt falls around his hips and he notices that Oikawa’s still only clad in his black boxer briefs, the fabric riding high on his thighs and leaving little to Iwaizumi’s imagination.

Everything about him shouts ‘sleepy Tooru’, except the playful gleam in his russet eyes, like he has a whole day of activities planned for themselves and this is just the beginning.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa practically purrs, resting his palms on Iwaizumi’s stomach. “It’s time for work.”

He says that, but his hands are dangerously close to a certain place that could take them a whole lot more time to get ready for work. Iwaizumi can’t decide if he should be pissed off or turned on.

“What time is it?” he asks, voice low from sleep, although he has a rough idea since sunlight is already streaming through their curtains.

“A little after seven,” Oikawa answers offhandedly, choosing to occupy himself with tugging on the strings of Iwaizumi’s shorts. The eager little shit.

He’s about to slip his fingers in until Iwaizumi catches his wrist.

“I thought you said it’s time for work?” he asks with a smirk and Oikawa’s initial surprise makes way for mischief.

“But Iwa-chan, there’s still time.”

Iwaizumi highly doubts so. Waking up at this hour only allows him a measly ten minutes before class officially starts. But Oikawa’s eager…he’s eager…so he really doesn’t want to say no. He looks back up at Oikawa, who’s staring at him expectantly through hooded lids and wearing the smallest of smiles.

“What do you say Hajime?” he whispers and Iwaizumi’s mouth turns dry.

His mind goes ‘fuck it’ before he pulls on Oikawa’s wrists and the setter lets out a surprised ‘oh!’ as he falls on top of Iwaizumi. Wrapping his arms around his waist, Iwaizumi buries his nose in Oikawa’s neck and blows on it. It earns him a startled cry as Oikawa squirms in his embrace.

“That’s for just now,” Iwaizumi says nonchalantly and Oikawa merely huffs in response, but nestles more closely into Iwaizumi anyway.

The older of them takes the opportunity to plant kisses along the base of Oikawa’s neck, refraining from sucking on the skin there because last he checked, the volleyball uniform doesn’t provide that much coverage. And given what’s happened yesterday, he’d prefer not to feed the media too much.

Speaking of which, the both of them only managed to escape the interviewers with the unlikely help of Ushiwaka, who quelled the ruckus just by being his simple self. After the closing of the games, Iwaizumi had been asked to join in for some celebratory drinks. It’s not the first time, but it’s definitely his first time going as Oikawa’s husband.

It’s funny how Iwaizumi blushes at the thought of how Oikawa did not stop holding his hand throughout the entire night but is able to keep a straight face when he thinks about the sinful things they were doing to each other hours ago.

He kisses the back of Oikawa’s ear and murmurs, “You smell nice.”

“Mm…” is Oikawa’s lazy reply. He hides his face in Iwaizumi’s collar, closes his eyes and rolls his hips against his shorts, starting with small motions that evolve into bolder ones.

“Tooru…” Iwaizumi says with a warning tone, though one could argue that it sounds more aroused.

“Iwa-chan…I want to do it.”

“I’ll be late…” he reminds and frankly, there’s really no point. He’s already hard.

“We can do it in the shower,” he says helpfully.

There’s a moment’s pause, like Iwaizumi is earnestly weighing the pros and cons of that option, before Oikawa is suddenly hoisted up as Iwaizumi swiftly gets out of bed with the setter wrapping his legs around his waist.

It surprises him at first, to find out how eager Iwaizumi actually is, not that he minded of course. Especially not when he’s pressed up against their shower wall, thoughts as hazy as the vapour around them.

* * *

“So…Oikawa Tooru huh,” Sawamura Daichi starts, pursing his lips and nodding his head slowly.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi says in embarrassment and avoids having to look at Daichi’s amused eyes by rearranging a few files on his desk.

“I haven’t even said anything!” Daichi says with a smile.

The news about their true relationship spread like wildfire and by the time Iwaizumi switched on his phone to read the news and check his notifications, the various articles have already been shared, liked, retweeted and what not. In addition, he had received a surfeit of messages from his friends, co-workers and other nosey people. It was a tiring morning…

…made even worse the moment he stepped into class because his students had created such a commotion about finally gaining a morsel of information about Iwaizumi-sensei’s love life. It alarmed a majority of them to know that he was even married, and married to the setter of Japan’s national volleyball team no less. One of his students even dared to ask him for Oikawa’s autograph.

Needless to say, he didn’t get much teaching done.

And now that classes were over, Iwaizumi is thankful for some peace and quiet as he retreats to his office. It’s quite short-lived, as Daichi entered his office to discuss some work matters at first but has predictably broached the subject, unable to contain his curiosity as well.

Iwaizumi sighs.

“You might as well,” he says.

“Relax Iwaizumi,” his friend assures. “I’m not about to make you say anything you don’t want to.”

Iwaizumi manages a grateful smile. If it’s Daichi, he supposes he doesn’t mind.

“He’s your roommate isn’t he?” Daichi asks, an innocuous enough question.

“Technically yeah. But we go way back. We’ve known each other since we were kids and got together when we were in high school.”

Daichi’s brow raises in what seems like amazement. “Wow, it’s incredible how you managed to keep your relationship under wraps for so long. So why the sudden big reveal?”

That one catches him off guard. With the abrupt turn of events, Iwaizumi hasn’t exactly sat down to get the story straight. It’s not easy to spin a tale that convincingly covers up the ‘my-spirit-guide-turned-me-into-my-21-year-old-self’ truth, so he gives an ambiguous answer for now.

“Oh you know…Tooru’s always pulling shit like that.”

Speaking of the devil, the door opens to reveal Oikawa, who hasn’t bothered knocking.

“Hi hi Iwa-chan, oh. Sawamura-san,” he greets amiably, not expecting his husband to have a visitor. He almost called him ‘Sawamura-sensei’ out of habit but catches himself in time.

“You know my name,” Daichi points out in mild surprise and Iwaizumi panics because Oikawa has actually never met Daichi before.

“Of course!” Oikawa sing-songs without missing a beat. “Iwa-chan has told me about you before. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Ah, likewise,” Daichi says and stands to introduce himself formally. “I’m Sawamura Daichi. I teach sports injuries here.”

 _Of course you do_ , Oikawa thinks with a smirk.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he introduces and shakes Daichi’s hand. Iwaizumi visibly breathes a sigh of relief.

“So I’ve heard,” Daichi remarks and it’s not like he means to stare, but something about Oikawa, now that he’s seeing him up close, is vaguely familiar. He narrows his eyes and it finally clicks in his mind.

“Iwaizumi,” he calls and tilts his head in contemplation. “Don’t you think he looks like one of our students?”

The teacher flies into a panic again; obviously he hasn’t thought this through as well.

“Umm…”

In fact, neither of them did. Oh shit—

“Sawamura-san,” Oikawa says, a teasing lilt to his voice, before Iwaizumi screws this up with how unsmooth he is. “That’s a little inappropriate isn’t it?”

It makes Daichi blush and Oikawa simply laughs it off, having achieved the desired outcome when the topic is dropped completely. Iwaizumi releases another sigh of relief; this is not good for his heart.

“Well, we’d love to chat but Iwa-chan and I have a dinner date,” Oikawa tells him.

“Oh sure, don’t let me keep you,” Daichi says, getting ready to leave.

“But you know, Sawamura-san,” he cuts in, a scheming glint in his eyes that doesn’t escape Iwaizumi’s notice. “Why don’t you join us for coffee next Friday? As thanks for taking care of Iwa-chan all this time.”

“Ah…it’s no problem,” he says awkwardly.

“Don’t be shy!” Oikawa insists and slants his eyes at Iwaizumi furtively, a signal for back-up. “I’d like to get to know Iwa-chan’s co-workers more.”

“You might as well agree Sawamura,” Iwaizumi adds helpfully. “Because Tooru will pester me about having coffee together until you agree.”

“Is that so?” Daichi says and scratches his cheek. “I suppose I can make it next Friday…”

“Great! Iwa-chan will let you know the details! I look forward to it!”

“I’ll see you next week then,” he says with a dorky smile. “See you tomorrow Iwaizumi.”

“See you Sawamura.”

“Bye bye!”

The moment Daichi leaves Iwaizumi’s office, the teacher pins Oikawa with a suspicious stare.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing!” Oikawa claims and makes himself comfortable on the seat across Iwaizumi. “Why do you think I’m up to something? Maybe I really want to know your co-workers more. I think an introduction is long overdue you know?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t doubt that but…

“It’s written all over your face,” he says dryly.

Oikawa laughs lightly and relents, leaning over the desk to look at Iwaizumi knowingly. “Just…don’t you think he’ll look good with Refreshing-san?”

“Sugawara??” Iwaizumi asks, the image of Kara Café’s boss forming in his mind.

“Yeah!” Oikawa exclaims animatedly. “I’m pretty sure Sawamura’s his type.”

“How do you even—never mind. Don’t mess with other people Tooru,” Iwaizumi says chidingly and starts to pack his belongings into his bag.

“I’m not!” he retorts defensively. “Don’t you think they have the ‘couple look’?”

Iwaizumi actually tries to picture the two of them together as he stuffs his laptop into his bag, but he’s not too good with this sort of stuff.

“I don’t know!”

“Well I do,” Oikawa says confidently and opens the door for the both of them once Iwaizumi’s done packing up. “I think I can be a matchmaker.”

“Please don’t.”

* * *

“Just order whatever you like really. I owe you guys that much.”

The generous statement comes from Oikawa, who has arranged a double dinner date with Kuroo and Kenma as thanks for all the help they’ve rendered him when he was 21 and helpless. The four of them are seated in a cosy corner of one of the higher-end traditional restaurants in Shibuya.

Oikawa’s pretty pleased with the place so far, which was a recommendation by one of his wing spikers. The friendly staff had ushered them to a table for four with cushioned seats atop a raised tatami platform. The place is quiet, complete with a soft orangey glow from the paper lanterns which makes it more romantic than homey. Still, Oikawa thinks it’s perfect for a double date with close friends.

“Don’t mind if I do!” Kuroo grins as he’s already perusing the menu for the most expensive grilled salted mackerel pike.

Oikawa doesn’t even mind if they’re going to order more than what they can finish. It’s the least he could do for the both of them and he’s just glad that he has friends like these. Besides, he’s not worried about Kenma over-ordering because he eats like a bird and in the first place, it had taken quite the effort on Kuroo’s part to persuade him to come, since he preferred staying in for home-cooked meals. So Oikawa probably won’t be burning a hole in his wallet tonight.

In the end, it’s Iwaizumi who orders the most food.

When most of the dishes have arrived and the four of them are digging in, Iwaizumi swallows his food in one big gulp before darting his eyes from Kuroo to Kenma.

“Let me get this right,” he says, having been told a summarised version of the happenings during Oikawa’s transformation from the black-haired middle blocker. “So the both of you knew everything from the start, let him crash at your apartment like a third wheel and Kenma, you faked all of his transcripts?”

Kenma nods silently, like what he had done is just part of his everyday routine. Oikawa looks at the both of them in amusement. It’s pretty interesting to hear it narrated from a third person’s perspective; from the time Kuroo and Kenma accidentally found out he was in his 21-year-old body, to the time he appeared outside their apartment pleading them to take him in, and even the time he walked in on them almost getting it on.

At his side, Kuroo interjects as-a-matter-of-factly, “Don’t forget the part where I offered wise words of advice, or the part where I listened to his whining, or the part where I had to comfort him as he was crying his eyes out.”

“Kuroo!!” Oikawa exclaims, appalled at his too-honest recount of what had happened.

“Welcome to my life,” Iwaizumi remarks flatly.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries out dramatically.

“Keep your voice down, there are people around,” Iwaizumi scolds and places a juicy beef cube on top of his rice. Kuroo looks on with mild fascination at the dissonance between his words and actions.

“But seriously though,” Iwaizumi continues, facing the couple again, this time with sincerity written in his eyes. “On behalf of Oikawa, thank you. I know he must have been a handful, but I’m glad you were there to help him out. God knows he needed it.”

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Kuroo says, waving a hand light-heartedly. “We’re always this kind.”

Kenma makes a sour face at him.

“Besides,” he adds and turns sharply to Oikawa. “If we ever get ourselves in this sort of supernatural shit, I expect you to help!”

“You can count on me!” he replies readily and with a matching grin.

“Oikawa-san,” Kenma suddenly says. “Have you met your spirit guide after you transformed back?”

He taps his chopsticks on his lip and answers, “Come to think of it, I haven’t. Maybe he disappeared since I managed to win Iwa-chan back?”

Kenma chews thoughtfully but doesn’t pursue the matter. Nobody needs to know that he’ll be using this as material for his next game idea.

“You know, while the whole spirit guide thing is unimaginable,” Kuroo comments as he takes more mackerel to his bowl. “I still cannot get over how you declared your relationship with Iwaizumi on national TV. It was priceless! You should’ve seen Goshiki’s face. I think he was one of the few who had no idea.”

Iwaizumi blushes red, and even Oikawa looks away with pink dusting his cheeks.

“Well…it seemed like the perfect moment,” he murmurs. As much as it seemed like it, Oikawa did not actually plan on confessing right after the game; it was truly in the heat of the moment that he blurted it out. And even when the enormity of his actions sunk in, he will always be glad that he did.

“I’m glad you did,” it startles everyone that Kenma’s the one who says that out loud. “You seem…lighter now.”

He smiles and Oikawa’s blush deepens not only at his tender smile, but at his unexpected truthfulness. He does feel lighter; keeping it a secret had unknowingly been a weight on his shoulders, even when he had done it for so long that it feels like it’s a part of him, and he’s relieved he doesn’t have to hide it anymore. He suddenly feels immensely foolish for standing so strongly for it in the first place.

“It’s something I should have done sooner,” he admits quietly, picking at his food.

Iwaizumi bonks him on the head gently, eliciting a small sound of surprise from the setter.

“Don’t get all gloomy now.”

“Sorry Iwa-chan, I still can’t help it,” he says, pressing his lips together in a tiny smile. “Sorry…”

“Stop apologizing,” he chides. “The past is the past. Let’s just look forward.”

Oikawa’s smile grows and he nods, holding his gaze with fondness.

“If you’re going to stare at each other all night,” Kuroo interrupts. “Kenma’s going to finish the food.”

“I’m not,” he insists, furrowing his brow at Kuroo, who also wants to shower Kenma with the same kind of love and affection that it’s embarrassing him.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa watch their light banter with interest, linking their fingers under the table until they have to eat again.

* * *

It’s rather late when the two of them return home and Oikawa gets the wonderful idea of cuddling in the gazebo tonight. They’ve yet to use it together ever since Oikawa transformed back, too in need of the familiar comfort of his king-sized bed after days of rigourous volleyball practice.

Now that things have sort of settled down, gossip and speculations flying around on the Internet aside (and even though Oikawa has received a few letters from some of his sponsorships notifying him of the termination of their contract due to his _inclinations_ , he was too happy to care), they’re going to make good use of the place, filling it up with all their blankets and pillows and even the extra ones they have. Iwaizumi makes a mental note to buy more soon.

They’ve finally got the last of it inside, and Iwaizumi is smoothing out the layers of blankets on the flat space while Oikawa is laying the pillows along the side so that they’ve created some sort of a cosy blanket fort.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls in the middle of his arranging.

“Hm?” he hums in response as he smooths out the corners, making sure that every flat surface is covered with blanket.

“I was wondering why you were so nice to me, as Ohara,” he begins pensively. “Was it because he reminded you of me?” In retrospect, Iwaizumi had been exceptionally attentive to him, like indulging him in his conversations, letting him accompany him to purchase materials for the gazebo and taking him to the sports rehabilitation centre. Surely he wouldn’t have done all these if he didn’t harbour a special interest and the only reason Oikawa can imagine is that Ohara resembled himself.

Iwaizumi shrugs and answers, “I guess I just wanted to look out for you, especially since you mentioned that you didn’t really have a dad.”

In all honesty though, the fact that he resembled Oikawa was an underlying reason.

“Ew Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says and pulls a face. “Were you trying to be my dad?”

A vein instantly tics in Iwaizumi’s temple. That is so wrong on at least two levels.

“No, idiot,” he scolds and scoots to lean against one of the pillows Oikawa has fluffed at one end of the platform. Gruffly, he says as he reaches out his arm, “C’mere.”

Oikawa obediently does and places himself beside Iwaizumi, their shoulders bumping.

“Seriously though Iwa-chan, you should be careful about being too nice,” he advises airily, slipping his legs under the covers. “You know that Kindaichi boy seems to have an infatuation with you.”

“No he does not,” Iwaizumi is quick to say, pulling the blanket over their legs. For some reason, that did not paint a pretty picture in his mind. He does not want to imagine Kindaichi crushing on him like a high-schooler, which is naturally what he thinks about when he hears the word ‘infatuation’.

“Oh Hajime, you may be a university teacher but you can be so dumb sometimes,” Oikawa quips, shaking his head in mock pity.

It rightfully earns him a pinch on the cheek and it makes him yelp even though it wasn’t even that hard.

“And I wonder how I could forget how annoying you are,” Iwaizumi shoots back.

“And you’re still as violent as ever,” Oikawa retorts easily, rubbing his cheek.

“Shut up, do you want to cuddle or not?” he asks, sliding further under the covers and lifting his arm to accommodate Oikawa.

“I do!” Oikawa says and slots himself under Iwaizumi’s arm, which rests on his shoulders. He circles Iwaizumi’s waist with his arm and tangles their legs together, burrowing his cheek into his neck and relishing in the warmth.

They fall into a comfortable silence and Oikawa finally takes a good look at the interior of the gazebo. When he was here the other time, it had been dark and cold and he only had misery as his company. Now, the place was dimly lit with warm lights and even though the portable air conditioner made it a little chilly, Iwaizumi’s heat and the fluffy blankets were enough to compensate for it.

Looking around, he sees that it’s still rather bare, with the coffee table and armchairs a familiar fixture. There’s a small bookshelf with no books and a mini drawer at the foot of the platform, where he thinks Iwaizumi must have placed some essentials. Oikawa thinks he might fill the bookshelf with only a few books, filling the other spaces with pictures or maybe a cactus or two. He surmises there might be enough space for a dart board or something as well. Yeah…that sounds good.

“Mmm…this is nice,” he murmurs, a happy smile pulling on the corners of his mouth. “You did a good job with this. You really remembered…about that time on the SUV.”

“Of course I did,” Iwaizumi says like he’s offended that Oikawa would even think he forgot, but it comes out more gently than he expected.

Words are probably superfluous at this point so Oikawa does not respond. Instead, he turns his head slightly to look up at the tinted roof and unlike that night, there are stars hanging in the sky; few and far between but there. He smiles, because Iwaizumi has truly managed to recreate that moment through this cosy, little place he built.

He had built this place from scratch; perusing design plans and getting picky over what materials he should get and actually constructing it with his hands. Oikawa still has a bit of a trouble wrapping his mind over it. He wonders if Iwaizumi fussed over whether the pillars were perfectly straight, or if the paint was evenly coated on. Contrary to popular belief, he was meticulous about things like that when it came to matters he cared about.

It must have been painful then, for him to build this knowing that it’s the last promise he can keep.

He didn’t want to spoil the mood, but Oikawa cannot stop picking at the scab once the band-aid falls off. Although Iwaizumi is here, holding him and loving him, it makes it all the more prominent that he’s here despite everything that has happened. Even after all the selfish requests, the forgotten promises, the misunderstandings, he is still here.

After all that is said and done, Iwaizumi has always loved Oikawa and very simply, he always will.

The thought of it overwhelms Oikawa and it feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

He doesn’t realize that there are tears sliding down his cheeks until Iwaizumi shifts his shoulders and breathes out his name.

“Tooru?”

He takes in a shaky breath and doesn’t bother making light of the situation by laughing it off because he was not one for pretences tonight. He may have made a lot of mistakes, but what hurts the most is that his actions had caused Iwaizumi to believe that he hadn’t been enough, when it was the exact opposite. Oikawa had took him for granted and it scared him to know that a life without Iwaizumi was a life he came close to ending up with.

“Sorry…” he mumbles, wiping his face on his shirt sleeve. There are a hundred different things he wants to apologize for, so he might as well start now. “I’m sorry Iwa-chan—”

“Don’t.”

“Wait,” Oikawa interrupts right back, scrambling up to his rest on his elbow and staring intensely into Iwaizumi’s eyes, framed by knitted brows.

“Let me say this please,” he implores, settling his hand over his jawline, the tips of his fingers brushing his ear lobe. When he speaks again, his voice is small because even though he has faced his mistakes, it doesn’t mean it’s any less painful. “You were there for me and I—I wasn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling bad about this…I’ve done some things that will take my whole life to make it up to you for but the one thing I’ll never forgive myself for is making you feel like you weren’t enough. Because you are.”

Oikawa presses his palm more keenly into his jaw, and leans into his hips, as if closing the distance between them could better convey the intensity of what he’s feeling.

“It’s always been you.”

Iwaizumi holds his hand in his, strokes his knuckles and sighs.

“You’re not the only one who has to apologize you know,” he says, eyes cast downwards guiltily for a brief moment. “I should have said something sooner and not keep it all to myself. If I had been more honest about how I felt, maybe we could have avoided it.”

Oikawa may have taken all the blame by himself but it takes two hands to clap after all.

“But still—”

“Let’s not go there,” Iwaizumi says with finality, recognizing that it would benefit no one if they continued insisting. “It’s over and we’re still together, that’s what matters.”

When he hears that, Oikawa’s heart warms. _Together_ …he likes the sound of that.

Come to think of it, they’ve always been just that. When they were eight and playing in the outdoors, accompanying each other on bug-catching expeditions and UFO-sighting adventures. When they were eleven and started playing volleyball together, a setter and his ace. When they were sixteen and their relationship took on a whole new meaning. When they were twenty and embarked on the paths their vastly different careers took them. When they were twenty-four and tied the knot. No matter where they were, they were each other’s constant.

Oikawa thinks he will never know how he got so lucky.

“Stay with me always okay Iwa-chan?” he whispers.

Iwaizumi smiles, sliding his hand into Oikawa’s hair to gently pull him down.

“Did you forget?” he asks with a faint smirk. “You’ve always got me.”

“I know. I remember,” Oikawa says, right before his lips are caught in a kiss.

It’s soft and sweet and Oikawa takes his time. He moves his lips in tandem with Iwaizumi’s and shifts himself half-on top of him. Iwaizumi’s hands drop to rest on his nape, nails barely scraping his scalp and it makes Oikawa shiver out a breath, parting his lips for Iwaizumi to peek his tongue out to trace the line of his bottom lip. It’s full and wet and pliant under his care. Oikawa wishes he wouldn’t tease him like that.

Fortunately, Iwaizumi knows just what to give Oikawa and as much as he wants to take it slow to enjoy every sight and every sound, there’s only so much self-control can do. He places a firm hand on Oikawa’s waist and breaks the kiss to swiftly flip them over, so that Oikawa is laying on his back and his knee is fitted comfortably between his legs.

He takes Oikawa’s unguarded moment as an opportunity to press his lips against his again, meeting no resistance when he slips his tongue into his opened mouth. Oikawa’s heart races with the spike in energy and he lets the euphoria take him on a new high. He welcomes the heat of Iwaizumi’s tongue and the way he pushes in, eager and careful like he wants to swallow Oikawa whole but also to relish in his privilege of taking him apart.

Iwaizumi licks the inside of his mouth, slides his tongue against his until they have to break apart for air. When he looks down at his partner, Oikawa is already flushed, his cheeks painted a satisfying shade of red. His lips are already shining with saliva but he still wipes a tongue over them and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, fully aware of the reaction it draws from Iwaizumi.

Naturally, Iwaizumi’s knee twitches against the inside of his thigh.

“Iwa-chan,” he drawls, low and sultry and looking right back at him under beautiful lashes. “Did you ever think about this…when I was in my 21-year-old body?”

The fierce blush that spreads across Iwaizumi’s cheeks is adorable Oikawa thinks, and is an answer in itself. He isn’t even mad, and quite turned on in fact. He wishes there was some way he could have slept with Iwaizumi as his student who was ten years his junior with no consequences whatsoever. It’s inappropriate no doubt, but Oikawa doesn’t have the shame to feel embarrassed about it.

“It wasn’t…” Iwaizumi trails off, finding it rather challenging to admit such a dirty thought. “…Like this.”

“What was it like?” Oikawa asks, eyes growing dark.

“I just…thought of you,” Iwaizumi starts and falters. “When I…”

He averts his gaze and presses his lips into a thin line. It was clearly taking him a lot of effort to admit it out loud. At least Oikawa understands what he’s trying to say and spares him the trouble.

“Touched yourself?” Oikawa finishes for him.

It was only once, when he was taking a shower after a long day of manual labour building the very place they were laying in. It wasn’t even intentional. The image of his student had appeared in his mind out of the blue as he came, tainting the walls and making him feel horrible immediately after.

He feels like he should explain, but Oikawa says quietly, “Touch me. I’m here now. Though you’ll have to make do with little old me.”

“Shut up, you’re beautiful,” Iwaizumi growls, mortification promptly forgotten. Oikawa may not be as young, his appearance no longer as youthful or skin as smooth as it was before but by no means was he any less beautiful to Iwaizumi.

He kisses him hard, surprising Oikawa a little and decides to show him how so with his actions. Iwaizumi moves to kiss the side of his mouth, along his jaw and down his neck, before sucking the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. He pulls the skin between his lips, hard enough to leave a lingering redness but not enough to make it stay till tomorrow, until he concludes that his shirt was getting in the way. He lifts himself up and kicks away the blankets so that they pool around their feet, leaving nothing to hinder his movements.

Reaching down, Iwaizumi slides his fingers under Oikawa’s shirt and pushes it up and over his head. His comes off soon after, when Oikawa wants there to be nothing but skin between them. It would be a shame not to appreciate Iwaizumi when he was shirtless and on top of him, so Oikawa does exactly that. His hungry eyes travel down the width of his shoulders, the hard lines of his arms and the V in his hips that dips into the waistband of his shorts and Oikawa sub-consciously wets his lips. Although Iwaizumi was no longer an athlete, he still had the body of one, and Oikawa thanks the heavens for Iwaizumi’s dedication to working out.

He doesn’t get another good look, as Iwaizumi bends down to plant soft kisses along his collarbone. He’s not complaining though, because he gets to wrap his arms around his frame, lightly digging his nails into his strong back. Iwaizumi savours the warmth of Oikawa’s embrace, mouth kissing a trail down his chest as his fingers curl around his waist, stroking the skin in tender motions.

He reaches a nub, already hardened from arousal and closes his lips over it. He catches the soft gasp that escapes and proceeds to press the tip of his tongue over it, coating it with a sheen of saliva with gentle strokes and faint kisses. As he pleases with his tongue, Iwaizumi’s hand glides up Oikawa’s torso until he reaches his nipple, rubbing his thumb over it in small circles. The sensation makes Oikawa curl his toes in and he closes his eyes as Iwaizumi moves to kiss down his stomach, lips skimming over the smoothness of his skin till the fabric of his shorts obstructs his way.

It’s loose around his hips and Iwaizumi can see the line of his boxer briefs and that’s too many clothes. Especially when he can see how interested Oikawa already is. Pressing a kiss beside his navel, Iwaizumi dips his fingers into his shorts, boxer briefs as well, and just before he pulls them off, pauses to look up at Oikawa.

“Let me take care of you.”

As if there was any possibility of Oikawa saying no, Iwaizumi waits for him to nod with a nervous swallow even though they’ve done this countless of times, before sliding his shorts and boxer briefs down his legs and leaving them at the side.

Oikawa is already fully hard and Iwaizumi takes a while to drink in the scene before him. It’s not anything he’s never seen before, Oikawa blushing and naked beneath him, but each and every time he’s breathless with how beautiful he is and how he’s the only one who gets to do this with him.

“Iwa-chan…” Oikawa whines, making it apparent that he needs attention.

Iwaizumi gives it to him, but he gives it to him nice and slow. He runs his palms along his thighs, his touch excruciatingly slow and _barely there_ , and spreads his legs apart to fit himself between them. It draws a shuddering breath from Oikawa, who follows the movement in anticipation. His skin tickles where Iwaizumi caressed and his breath hitches when Iwaizumi closes his mouth around the head of his cock.

With his palms resting on each thigh, keeping them in place, Iwaizumi lets his mouth do the work. He swirls his tongue around the head before licking the slit, using the tip of his tongue to press against it and swallowing when a mild saltiness spreads across his mouth. Oikawa squirms a little under him, his hands burying themselves in Iwaizumi’s hair. Iwaizumi slides his mouth further down his cock but pulls back up just after he sinks over the foreskin. He bobs his head as he repeats the motion, pressing his lips firmly around the hardness of it and sucking lightly.

Oikawa makes a restrained whine at the back of his throat, fingers beginning to pull on Iwaizumi’s hair with impatience. He gets the hint, completely expecting it after all, and takes Oikawa deeper into his mouth. His lips easily slide over the shaft and Iwaizumi hollows out his cheeks as he sucks. The suddenness of it makes Oikawa inhale sharply and his back arches off the sheets when Iwaizumi starts to run his lips down the length of him, licking wet stripes from base to tip as he keeps up a steady rhythm.

He takes Oikawa in as far as he can and holds one of his thighs in place when the pleasure makes him clench them around Iwaizumi. His free hand comes up to cup his balls, kneading them tenderly as he continues to pleasure him. He’s vaguely aware of the loudening moans from his partner and it only serves to encourage him. He’s supposed to keep it nice and slow yet he finds himself going faster, too caught up in the heat of the moment to think of stopping.

That is, until Oikawa pushes him away and Iwaizumi pulls off with an audible pop and licks his lips.

“Wait—Iwa-chan…” he says in between quick breaths. “I don’t want to come yet…I want—”

His breath catches in his throat and Iwaizumi waits patiently, ready to give him whatever he wants.

“I want to come with you inside me,” he manages to say and Iwaizumi’s dick strains in his underwear.

“Yeah—okay,” he says hoarsely, blinking at Oikawa before he remembers what the next step is.

Iwaizumi turns to the mini drawer at the foot of their makeshift bed, blocking Oikawa’s view so all he manages to do is hear the sounds of his husband rummaging through the drawer. When he faces him again, Iwaizumi places a condom and a bottle of lube beside him and Oikawa shifts in anticipation, propping himself up on his elbows.

Iwaizumi notices and deliberately holds his gaze as he strips himself of his shorts and boxer briefs. Oikawa sits up to get a better look, eyes casting downwards to see Iwaizumi’s cock, already hard and straining against his stomach. He tosses his clothes away and runs his hands up Oikawa’s shins, over his knees and down his thighs, pressing his weight against his hip bones to pull himself closer. He bends forward to kiss Oikawa’s bad knee, all the while watching him intently and more than cognizant of how it makes the skin there tingle.

Leaning back up, Iwaizumi tells him quietly, “Lay back for me?”

Iwa-chan is being quite the gentleman today, Oikawa thinks, and warmness spreads across his chest. He nods obediently, laying back against the sheets again. He hears the opening of a bottle cap and looks down just because he wants to. Iwaizumi slicks his fingers with lube, rubbing them together to warm the viscous liquid. He parts Oikawa’s legs and settles himself comfortably between them, resting on his knees.

“Relax,” he says and Oikawa didn’t even know his heart was racing.

Iwaizumi presses the tip of his finger against Oikawa’s entrance, circling the hole and coating the rim with lube. Oikawa shivers, a long sigh escaping his throat. Iwaizumi keeps it up for a few long moments and Oikawa knows he’s teasing him, having barely started and enjoying the expressions he was making. It feels so good, but he’s getting rather impatient.

“Iwa-chan…” he groans out and Iwaizumi detects the hint of petulance in his voice.

As if on cue, he pushes a finger in slowly and Oikawa takes him in easily. It’s hot and Oikawa moans at being filled with just Iwaizumi’s middle finger. Iwaizumi pushes it all the way in to the knuckle and makes a beckoning motion with his finger, so that his fingertip scrapes against Oikawa’s tight muscles. He makes it a point to do so slowly, so that Oikawa can properly feel every movement he makes inside, and watches as Oikawa’s breath quickens.

Having teased his partner enough, Iwaizumi pulls his finger out, slippery with lube and fluid. Another moan escapes Oikawa, this time due to the absence of that familiar warmth. But he’s not without it for long, as Iwaizumi slips his finger in again and starts a steady pace of pumping his finger into Oikawa. With his free hand on Oikawa’s thigh, Iwaizumi watches his finger disappear into his hole, before coming back out wetter and slicker.

He’s about to insert another finger, just as Oikawa breathes out a raspy, “More, Iwa-chan…”

Honestly, it’s so easy to give him what he wants sometimes. Iwaizumi, still as carefully as ever, pushes his forefinger in and the moan Oikawa makes is lewd and pretty loud. He should probably inform him that the walls are not sound-proof sometime soon. Oikawa’s muscles are tight around his fingers and Iwaizumi looks up to gauge his reaction as he pumps two fingers in. When he sees how glazed over Oikawa’s eyes are, a sure-sign of the pleasure he’s receiving, Iwaizumi proceeds to spread his fingers apart, scissoring them inside Oikawa.

“Ah—!” he cries out, clearly not expecting that. He grabs a fistful of the sheets and adjusts to the sensation. Iwaizumi fingers him with more rigour, going in faster and deeper as Oikawa pants and throws his head back against the pillow.

“Hajime…Hajime,” Oikawa moans. “It’s so good…it feels so good…”

Iwaizumi keeps it up, feeling just as good to be the one giving pleasure to Oikawa and eliciting these sounds from him. Even so, his cock is painfully hard from the need to be touched (or better still, inside Oikawa), that he’s leaking pre-cum from the tip.

Deeming Oikawa well-prepared, Iwaizumi pulls his fingers out and smiles when his partner whines. He picks up the condom and tears the wrapper, slipping it on with practised ease. Diligently, he slicks himself up with more lube, mildly aware of how Oikawa is staring at him expectantly. Iwaizumi slots himself between Oikawa’s legs and positions his dick at his entrance.

Hooking one arm underneath Oikawa’s thigh to angle him better, Iwaizumi pushes into his hole, going slow and unable to control a low groan. Oikawa grips his arm and squeezes his eyes shut as he takes in the length of Iwaizumi, the familiar burn so good and perfect. Iwaizumi releases a shaky breath when he’s fully inside Oikawa, so warm and tight that he has half a mind to just fuck him until they’re both coming.

But tonight, he wants it to be special, wants to take this slow and let Oikawa feel everything he has to give, wants to make love under the star-kissed skies again. He removes his arm from under Oikawa’s thigh and leans forward to gather him in his arms and Oikawa naturally cages him with his legs and wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s back.

Iwaizumi moves in and out of Oikawa, the sensation of being wrapped so hotly and entirely absolutely amazing. He kisses Oikawa’s mouth lightly, before peppering small kisses down his neck and simply nestling his nose at the juncture of his neck.

“Tooru…” he mumbles into flushed skin. “You feel so good…”

As he’s enveloped by Oikawa’s heat, Iwaizumi’s senses are filled with nothing but Oikawa. He breathes in his scent, mixed with fresh soap and sweat; quivers when his moans resound in his ears; aches for the taste of Oikawa’s mouth and skin; and revels in the way Oikawa is gathered in his arms. The passion between them is palpable and it fades everything else into blackness.

Everything about this moment is perfect and Iwaizumi cannot believe he almost gave this up as well. Oikawa could be some of the things he hated, but he was everything he loved.

“I love you like this…” he whispers absentmindedly, nuzzling Oikawa’s neck as he slides in and out. “I love you, Tooru.”

There’s something about this very moment that makes Oikawa’s chest tighten. Perhaps it’s how Iwaizumi is making love to him, full of thoughtful actions and sighed words. Perhaps it’s the beauty of the night sky above, dotted with explosions from light years away. Perhaps it’s the way Iwaizumi utters those words, like he’s baring his soul again, like they were sixteen and bolder steps were taken, like he knows he’s opening himself up to be hurt again but he does it anyway.

And that’s the thing about being loved by Iwaizumi Hajime; he does so unconditionally and Oikawa thinks he will never know what kind of stars aligned for them to be together. But he knows that he has never felt anything for anyone as much as he feels for Hajime.

It’s not like he hasn’t known this, but admitting it now, as he makes love under the stars, is overwhelming and it forms tears in his eyes. Oikawa grips onto Iwaizumi more tightly, not wanting him to know he’s such an embarrassing mess, as the tears dash down his cheeks. He shudders out a breath, but it comes out like a sob.

Predictably, Iwaizumi catches it within the second and he snaps up to look at Oikawa, worry written across his features.

“Shit, did I—did I hurt you?”

He scrambles up to get a better look, almost sliding out of Oikawa, but the setter hooks his ankles behind his back and pulls him back in.

“No!” he cries out, shaking his head vehemently and locking Iwaizumi in a vice grip. “You didn’t…”

He bows his head, willing the tears to stop. Above him, Iwaizumi is still confused but he relaxes in Oikawa’s embrace.

“Then why are you crying?” he asks softly, tilting his chin up so that they’re eye-to-eye again.

Oikawa squeezes his eyes, forcing the tears to drip against the pillow. He doesn’t really know how to answer. Because how do you adequately tell someone that there are a hundred conflicting emotions within you, and it’s all because you feel so much for him?

“I love you,” he strains out, holding on to Iwaizumi. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, for Iwaizumi shuts him up with a kiss.

“Just the first part’s enough,” he says and it effectively renders Oikawa wordless. “And I know. I love you too. Don’t cry okay? You know you’re an ugly crier.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squawks and Iwaizumi goes in to seal his lips with a firm kiss. He pulls away with an audible smack and rests his forehead on Oikawa’s.

“Do you want to continue?” he asks, breaths mingling.

In response, Oikawa jerks his feet, pushing Iwaizumi deeper inside him. The bold move takes Iwaizumi by surprise, but in the next moment he’s smirking and bracing himself against his partner. Starting from where he left off, Iwaizumi picks up the rhythm again, thrusting into Oikawa with renewed vigour.

The pleasure builds up quickly, Oikawa still wet and warm around him, urging Iwaizumi to roll his hips more forcefully against Oikawa. He clenches around Iwaizumi and the tightness almost makes him come but he steadies himself just in time.

With the intent to take it slow now abandoned, Iwaizumi slots his hands against the curve of Oikawa’s neck and the arch of his back, holding him close. He quickens his pace as he pushes in and out of Oikawa, the slapping of skin distinct from the low groans and quiet whimpers. Oikawa feels his whole body shifting as Iwaizumi drives into him, unable to control the lewd sounds coming from his mouth as his cock rubs against Iwaizumi’s stomach. He can feel release approaching and when Iwaizumi angles himself differently and curls his toes into the sheets to push himself deeper inside, his mind goes completely blank as Iwaizumi hits his prostate with swift, steady thrusts.

Oikawa gasps, finding purchase in clutching at Iwaizumi’s back, blunt nails digging into the skin to form half-moon shapes. The pleasure is amazing and Oikawa’s vision goes dark as he comes with Hajime’s name on the tip of his tongue, cock pulsing as he stains his stomach. The sensation becomes too much for Iwaizumi to handle as well, and he reaches his climax soon after, spilling himself inside Oikawa with a drawn-out groan.

He empties himself with shivers and jerks and once his senses return to him, Iwaizumi collapses next to Oikawa in a boneless heap. Panting, he notices that he’s moving in time with the rise and fall of Oikawa’s chest and realizes that Oikawa is catching his breath as well.

Pushing himself off, Iwaizumi carefully slips out of Oikawa, who winces and sighs at the loss of heat. Iwaizumi runs a hand endearingly through his partner’s hair, now messy with an after-sex style. He does the necessary of pulling off the condom and reaching behind to dump it in the bin. When he turns back, Oikawa already has his eyes closed and is sliding his legs down the sheets. He doesn’t do it intentionally slowly, for Iwaizumi realizes that his legs are trembling.

For a second he’s anxious that he has hurt Oikawa somehow, until he opens his brown eyes to look at him lazily, his expression utterly sated. His lips part as he tries to even out his breathing, taking his own sweet time to come back from the high. Making love under a starry sky while being emotionally-charged has all kinds of perks. Oikawa holds Iwaizumi’s gaze idly, entirely satisfied and muscles loose.

There’s come drying on his stomach and Iwaizumi pulls out a few wet tissues from the drawer (he’s well-prepared okay?), scooting over to wipe his stomach clean. Oikawa gives him a pleased hum and simply watches on, enjoying the different kind of attention he’s accorded with. Once his stomach is clean, Iwaizumi pushes his legs up again, spreads them apart and presses a tissue against his hole.

Still sensitive, Oikawa squeaks in surprise but doesn’t stop Iwaizumi otherwise. His husband looks up briefly, then proceeds to dab the tissue around the puckered skin, cleaning away the remnants of their love-making. He’s doting and careful in his actions, tending to Oikawa as if he might break him and the setter finds in rather endearing. The moment he’s finished with cleaning Oikawa up and tossing the tissues into the bin, Oikawa immediately yanks him in, throws the covers over their naked bodies and snuggles up to him cosily with a cheeky smile on his face.

“What are you, a puppy?” Iwaizumi jokes and slings an arm around his shoulders, tucking him in.

“Cuddle,” Oikawa merely says and Iwaizumi returns with a kiss to his forehead.

Sighing in contentment, Oikawa fits his leg between Iwaizumi’s, their toes touching. He could bask in this inviting warmth all night long and he won’t even complain about his hair getting flattened on one side or not being able to feel his right arm in the morning. Iwaizumi is all sturdy muscles and soothing heat that Oikawa feels so safe.

He starts to notice a comforting feeling at his shoulder and realizes that Iwaizumi is stroking his skin in random patterns, fingers moving along his blades to thread them through his hair. It’s lulling. Oikawa scoots closer to him for more of it and the abrupt movement makes the lingering soreness in his lower half flare for a second.

“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks concernedly when he notices the wince.

Oikawa scoffs. He wasn’t in pain. If anything, he welcomed the soreness; it was the good type. And they’ve done worse.

“I’m fine Iwa-chan,” he assures. “I know I haven’t had sex in a while since I got back, but you’re acting like I just lost my virginity.”

“Don’t be crass idiot,” he shoots back and smacks his palm against the back of his head.

“Ow! I’m kidding!” Oikawa protests, rubbing the sore spot although it was far from painful. Teasingly, he adds, “You know I love it when you fuss over me.”

“Do I?” Iwaizumi says dryly, rolling his eyes.

“Now you do.”

“What am I, your keeper?”

There’s a deliberate pause before Oikawa replies with a lilt, “You should already know the answer to that Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips and looks away, admitting that Oikawa is not wrong. Since they were children, he had always been his keeper.

Neither of them speak for a while, allowing themselves the simple peace of laying in each other’s embrace, their hearts beating in sync as they watch the stars above. But whereas Iwaizumi gazes with light-heartedness, Oikawa feels the crawling need to get something off his chest.

“You know…” he begins hesitantly. It’s a serious thing to say but he has mulled over it enough to be certain that he would stay true to his words. “I think I might retire. After the Olympics next year.”

When he says it, it feels right.

The declaration catches Iwaizumi off guard, because he isn’t able to respond for a few tense moments as he stares at Oikawa’s side profile.

“Tooru…” he only manages to say, his tone even more uncertain. It was quite out-of-the-blue and he even half-wonders if he heard him right.

Oikawa meets his inquisitive eyes fleetingly before shrugging.

“It’s about time don’t you think? I’ve been playing for a good bit of my life now,” he says and chuckles. “Besides, I’m getting old.”

“Are you sure?” Iwaizumi probes, a hint of concern in his voice. Oikawa cracks jokes when he’s putting up a front yet it didn’t feel like it was the case right now. In fact, it feels as if he’s laying out the truth.

“Mmhm,” he nods and goes on to explain, shifting so that he can face Iwaizumi better. “When I first started playing, I never knew I’d get this far. Being in KitaDai and then Seijoh and finally playing for the national team…it’s been a good run. My life revolved so much around volleyball, and I guess at some point in time you realize it’s time to take a step back.”

“But retiring?” he emphasises and takes Oikawa’s hand in his. “It’s a huge decision to make.”

Oikawa tilts his head to the side, which squishes his cheek into the pillow.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d want—”

“It’s not like that,” Iwaizumi interjects, his hold on his husband’s hand tightening instinctively. “I know how important volleyball is to you and I’m not asking you to stop playing. I don’t want you to do that because of me. I don’t want you to make a decision you might regret.”

He wants things to change but he never wants to get in the way. He never wants to hold him back.

“I won’t regret it,” Oikawa tells him firmly, Iwaizumi’s words solidifying his resolve. If he had been the slightest bit uncertain about this, he isn’t now. “If there’s one thing that this whole thing has taught me, it’s that nothing could ever come close to you.

“And retiring next year would be timely wouldn’t it?” he continues, lacing his fingers with Iwaizumi’s with a genuine smile. “I’m honestly getting too old to play competitively, should probably let the rookies have a bit of the glory as well. Besides, I’m not quitting volleyball forever”—he could never just stop—“after the Olympics, I think I might get into coaching. Go back to Seijoh you know?”

It sounds like he has a plan. Though not cast in stone, it sounds like he could be happy with that. And that’s enough for Iwaizumi.

“You’ll probably get roasted by the high school kids though,” he jokes, feeling weightless all of a sudden.

Oikawa’s mouth drops open and he punches Iwaizumi in the shoulder.

“That’s so mean!”

“I’m kidding,” he laughs, the wrinkles that Oikawa has fallen in love with appearing at the edges of his eyes. Oikawa’s chest tightens at the sound of his laughter. “You’ll be great.”

He tugs him in, seals his lips in a tender kiss and rests his forehead against his.

“Well, whatever it is, we’ll figure it out right?” Oikawa asks and Iwaizumi refrains from saying _“who’s the one asking questions they know the answer to now?”_

Instead, he tells him, “Yeah, we will.”

Oikawa wanted to be best, but he realizes that he is best when he’s with Iwaizumi.

* * *

A week later as Oikawa strolls into Kara Café after practice, he’s delighted to see Daichi with Iwaizumi already at his usual table. He gives them a small wave before indicating that he’s going to order a drink first. Stepping up to the counter, Oikawa skims through the menu until the kitchen door opens to reveal the boss of Kara Café wiping his hands on a cloth. A tiny smirk makes its way to Oikawa’s mouth.

“Oh Oikawa-san, nice to see you here again,” Sugawara greets with an amiable smile. Oikawa has been visiting the café for the past week, joining Iwaizumi after practice and getting acquainted with the staff all over again. It was him making amends, putting in the effort to get to know Iwaizumi’s circle of friends.

They (especially Tsukishima) had been rather suspicious of the whole thing, since he had coincidentally appeared right after Ohara Tooru vanished without a trace. But they bought Iwaizumi’s explanation that the kid had to return to Kyoto for personal matters and Oikawa was quick to steer the conversation away.

During his few visits, he had formed an unlikely friendship with the grey-haired boss, who was much easier to talk to as a friend than as a supervisor.

“Refreshing-san, glad you’re working today!” he chirps, using the nickname he had coined Sugawara with.

“Hm? Did you want to see me?” he asks curiously.

“Just wanted your recommendation,” he says airily.

“Well, we just got our new shipment of Columbian coffee beans, would you like to try that?”

“Sure!” Oikawa says and ponders over how he can make this work, now that Sawamura and Sugawara were in the same room. But he gets distracted by the not-so-furtive and very-wary glances a certain employee was throwing his way. “Tsukishima-kun, you really should stop glaring at me like that.”

Far from being embarrassed at getting caught for glowering, the blonde barista narrows his eyes before finally busying himself with the syrup containers. Beside him, Yamaguchi gives Oikawa an apologetic smile.

“He just thinks you look like a co-worker we had!” he chimes.

“Yes, as I’ve been told every time I’m here,” Oikawa points out, wondering when they’ll get over it. “It’d be interesting to see this boy wouldn’t it? But I guess it’s also a good thing I haven’t met him. You know what they say about meeting your doppelganger.”

When Yamaguchi tilts his head, looking adorably clueless, Oikawa says, “You die.”

“That’s not even remotely true,” Tsukishima counters with a roll of his eyes and Yamaguchi’s gaze darts to him nervously.

Oikawa laughs, amused by their reactions. He intentionally looks at Tsukishima when he says, “Your boyfriend’s very cute.”

It causes a little stir as he had hoped, Yamaguchi flustered and Tsukishima blushing. Sugawara chuckles because he too wonders when his employees will stop dancing around each other. He doesn’t have a policy on “office” romance after all.

Leaving the two to deal with their awkwardness, Oikawa turns back to Sugawara, who leaves the coffee machine unsupervised for an instant to glance somewhere behind Oikawa. The setter looks over his shoulder surreptitiously and his smirk only grows wider when it’s a certain dark-haired, well-built teacher his eyes land on. And it’s not the one who’s taken.

Leaning over the counter, Oikawa steals Sugawara’s attention. “You’re going to have to thank me soon.”

“Huh?” the young boss asks, covering up his distraction by fiddling with the coffee cup.

“I brought you a new regular,” Oikawa sing-songs, jerking his head in his companions’ direction.

An unmistakable blush spreads across Sugawara’s cheeks but he manages to pretend he’s not embarrassed. His voice is composed when he replies, “I saw him coming in with Iwaizumi-san though.”

“Yeah but I was the one who invited him here!” Oikawa argues.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he counters with a smirk of his own.

“You seem pleased that I did. I saw you looking,” he points out.

“What? He’s not bad-looking,” Sugawara admits with a shrug. Attractive, muscular and honest-looking; what’s there not to like? A little dorky too, when he stumbled over his order while avoiding Sugawara’s amused eyes.

“Interested?” Oikawa prods, poking his elbow at Sugawara.

“I didn’t say that,” he tells him, not giving him the satisfaction of admitting it but it doesn’t matter anyway because his darkening blush is rather telling.

With a short laugh, Oikawa suggests sneakily, “Why don’t you bring me my drink later?”

Sugawara shoots him a cautious glance but lets him walk away otherwise.

Oikawa pulls out a chair beside Iwaizumi, dropping his hand casually on his knee and giving Daichi a pleasant smile. “Sorry I’m late. Coach wanted to talk.”

“No problem,” Daichi assures. “We just got here too.”

“So how do you find the coffee?” the setter asks, noticing that his cup is already half-empty. “Not bad right?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Daichi nods. “Do you come here often too?”

“Not until recently. Iwa-chan here is a regular though, he even gets free food sometimes.”

“So I’ve heard,” he answers with a chuckle.

Oikawa faces his husband and the look on his face tells him he has something to say, but it can’t be said in front of their companion. His eyebrows are slightly raised and his eyes dart towards Daichi and then Sugawara for a split second before meeting his again. He rolls his eyes and a sharp sigh escapes his nose. In Iwaizumi-Oikawa language, Oikawa understands it to be along the lines of _“I can’t believe you’re right”_ and _“I’m not surprised you are”_ at the same time. It’s kind of ironic and Oikawa has a pretty good idea about what it’s about. He has a radar for these sort of things after all. It’s a gift.

Daichi doesn’t even realize they’re having an aun moment conversing with facial expressions in lieu of words. He’s too busy trying to look natural while sneaking glances at the eye-catching man behind the counter. Oikawa exploits his moment of carelessness.

“If you like the stuff here, you should come back on Fridays,” he says casually, taking a long sip of his coffee. “That’s when the boss usually comes in.”

Iwaizumi gives him a _“what the heck”_ look that Oikawa immediately dismisses.

“Huh?” Daichi says, not catching on.

“The guy you’ve been staring at?”

Daichi’s face reddens in record time and Oikawa’s fascinated that he can go from no-nonsense Daichi to awkward-Daichi in a fraction of a second. Even Iwaizumi looks amused.

“I wasn’t staring!” he denies, eyes on his cup to avoid their inquisitive stares.

“Interested?” Oikawa torments with a playful smirk.

“No!” he denies again, scandalized. How can they think that he’d be smitten with someone he just met, completely enraptured by his attractiveness, never mind the fact that it’s exactly what happened.

“Sawamura, you were kinda stammering when you ordered your drink,” Iwaizumi joins in and Daichi groans. Fine, so he was smitten.

“Am I that obvious?” he asks helplessly.

“Pretty much yeah,” Iwaizumi answers.

“Ugh…”

In his defense, it’s been a long time since he was into the dating game and this grey-haired, amber-eyed beauty checked like 9/10 of his boxes. In his short bout of wallowing, Daichi isn’t prepared when the said beauty comes walking up to them balancing a drink on a tray.

“Oikawa-san, here’s your drink,” he says smoothly and while Daichi’s breath catches in his throat at the sudden proximity, he doesn’t spare his new customer a glance.

“Thank you!” Oikawa says and motions to his victim. “Our friend Sawamura here would like to give his compliments to the barista.”

“Oh?” he says and finally looks at the university teacher. When their eyes meet, Sugawara smiles. Iwaizumi watches with mild interest, sucking on the straw of his drink.

“Uh yeah, the coffee’s great,” Daichi starts, doing quite a good job at masking his nervousness. “I’m not much of a café-person, but this is good—”

He bites the words off because did he really just tell the boss of a café that he’s not a café-person?

“I mean—” he makes up hastily, trying to salvage the minor slip-up. Oikawa’s about to step in for some damage control but Sugawara chimes in.

“If you enjoy our coffees, come in on Fridays. We have a special coffee menu,” he tells him good-naturedly. “And if you’re interested, I’d be happy to recommend. Enjoy yourselves.”

With that, he strolls away, tray in hand and leaves Daichi blushing, Iwaizumi unaffected and Oikawa impressed. He’s beginning to think Sugawara has this all under his control.

“Sawamura-san, I suggest you not leave here without getting his number,” he remarks.

The rest of their short get-together goes by without any more drama, though Daichi keeps Oikawa’s suggestion at the back of his mind. Yet, he comes up short of ideas even as the late-afternoon sky turns darker. God, he must really be rusty at this, which is such a shame because he _really_ wants his number.

“We should get going,” Oikawa eventually says and the three of them get up to leave, the setter promising that they’d definitely meet again. Daichi gives him a vague reply, toying with the idea of winging it and straight-up asking for Sugawara’s number to register what Oikawa is saying. Then again, it doesn’t sound like a very classy approach…and he could always come back under the guise of enjoying the coffee here. It won’t be a lie.

But as they pass the counter, he hears Oikawa say blithely, “Thanks for the good service as always! Oh and Refreshing-san, Sawamura-san has something to ask you, but Iwa-chan and I are heading off first.”

With a grin on his face, he loops his arm around Iwaizumi’s, pleased to see the shock on Daichi’s face and the nonplussed expression on Sugawara’s.

“Thanks for always taking care of Iwa-chan!” he says and adds with a wicked smile, “We’re going home to have some crazy, hot sex. Bye!”

“Tooru!” Iwaizumi yelps, appalled and mortified that he would spout something like that so freely.

Before his husband and his lack of social decency can make matters worse, he pulls him out the café with an apologetic gaze and burning cheeks, much to Oikawa’s utter delight. He doesn’t catch Sugawara’s and Daichi’s surprised looks turning into shared amusement when their eyes meet.

Iwaizumi cannot believe this guy.

* * *

“Ah, I think we’ve run out of milk too,” Iwaizumi remembers as he places a box of dashi stock into the grocery basket. “Can you get it? I’m going to look for some seaweed first before checking out.”

“Okay Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says obediently and takes his hand out of Iwaizumi’s jacket pocket before heading to the dairy section at the back.

The grocery store is almost empty at this time of the night, loosening Oikawa’s inhibitions with engaging in PDA. There’s something about shopping for groceries close to midnight in a small 24/7 roadside mart with your lover whom you’re definitely going home to have sex with that makes you feel like nothing matters and anything goes. With a spring in his step, Oikawa weaves through the short aisles to reach the milk section.

He goes for the brand they usually buy the moment he spots it and pulls open the fridge door, checking the expiration date before turning on his heel to return to Iwaizumi. But instead of turning into an empty aisle, he nearly collides head-first with a lanky stranger wearing blue overalls.

“Hey!” he exclaims, wondering why someone would stand so close to him when there’s so much available space around and how he could appear without making the slightest sound or having any sort of presence at all. Oikawa’s about to glower at the stranger (but otherwise make no fuss), but his eyes almost bulge out of his sockets when he sees who it is.

“You!!” he shouts, pointing a finger at his expressionless face as he hugs the carton of milk to his chest. He doesn’t seem capable of articulating any other words as he repeats, “It’s you!!”

“Hello Oikawa-san,” the person greets. “My name is Kunimi, in case you forgot.”

Oikawa sputters before snatching his finger back. “Of course I remember! You’re the one who transformed me into my 21-year-old self!”

He doesn’t give Kunimi a chance to respond as he fires off a string of questions. “What are you doing here?! How did I change back?! You’re not going to do anything to me now are you?”

“That’s too many questions to answer,” Kunimi says lazily. “Pick one.”

Oikawa pouts but figures there would be no point in arguing with a spirit guide. He thinks back to his time as a university student and how it came to pass because of a simple wish, a mission he pursued with single-minded purpose; a mission he thought he had failed.

“Why did I turn back?” he asks as he recollects his second exchange with Kunimi, his animated expression mellowing into a mix of curiosity and puzzlement. After all, he had not achieved what he set out to do; he had not fixed things. “I didn’t accomplish my mission.”

“Nobody said the mission was set by you,” Kunimi answers easily.

Oikawa quirks his head to the side. He sieves through his memories but he can’t seem to remember Kunimi ever telling him what he needed to do. He decided on that himself and he doesn’t always make the right decisions. Sometimes, you need a hand (or a spirit guide) to point you in the right direction. It turns out it wasn’t exactly his marriage that needed fixing, it was himself. All he had to do was to understand himself, to realize his own shortcomings and everything else would fall into place. When he came to that realization the night he went home, he was already on his way to mend the broken pieces.

“How did you know I’d succeed?” he whispers.

“We don’t grant wishes just to have them wasted,” Kunimi says, always so cryptic.

Does he mean that Iwaizumi and Oikawa were always meant to be? That whatever their souls are made of, theirs were the same? That the gods above intervened to make sure that something as true and certain as what they have would be preserved?

Makes it seem like someone up there was honestly not joking when he tied the red string around their fingers.

It’s pretty amazing, now that Oikawa thinks about it and the enormity of it makes his heart swell.

“Congratulations Oikawa-san,” the janitor-spirit guide says when Oikawa seems unable to supply a response, black eyes softening just a bit. “We may have intervened, but all we did was give you a nudge. Everything else was you.”

Oikawa’s chest tightens, filled with pride and happiness and gratitude and a hundred other emotions he doesn’t have the mind to put names to.

“Thank—”

“Tooru?” Iwaizumi’s voice cuts through the quietness and Oikawa whirls around in surprise. “Who are you talking to?”

“My spirit guide!” he says, getting excited. Iwa-chan can finally meet the mysterious spirit guide he thinks, but when he turns back, it’s just empty space. No spirit guide in sight. Oikawa’s mouth hangs open and a wave of déjà vu sweeps past him. “He was just here…”

“That so?” Iwaizumi says, a little disappointed. He believes Oikawa when he talks about the spirit guide (nothing can explain the past month otherwise), and he would have liked to meet this so-called guide in person. But maybe it’s one of those phenomenon where only the chosen person can see the other-worldly being. Oh well.

Smiling fondly as Oikawa peers across the aisles, he continues, “Have you gotten the milk?”

Mouth twisting into a frown, Oikawa abandons his search and answers, “Yeah, I got it. Let’s go.”

“Stupid, your shirt’s wet,” Iwaizumi points out when Oikawa trots over. “Why did you even hold it so close to your shirt? Give it to me.”

He passes the carton of milk to him wordlessly, frown turning into a pout. “I really saw him.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi says understandingly and as they head to the cashier, he spots a yellow wringer trolley on the far right, so out of place in front of the magazine rack.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything about it anymore, somewhat relieved with the closure a final meeting with his spirit guide brought. He helps Iwaizumi unload the groceries, the middle-aged lady at the cashier scanning their items mechanically.

“Oh!” he suddenly says, remembering something. He leaves Iwaizumi at the cashier with a grin, going off to get some unhealthy snacks probably.

But when he returns, he returns with a box of condoms, placing it on the counter with an innocent smile.

“Can’t forget these,” he says casually and Iwaizumi fights down a blush.

It definitely takes the lady aback, who tries not to react to the bold action but the sideway sweep of her gaze manages to make her look judge-y. Iwaizumi purses his lips; this is the part that they’d never be able to escape from. Perhaps she’d think Oikawa was getting it for himself, but then he goes and loops his arm around Iwaizumi’s possessively, sending a particular message loud and clear.

Undoubtedly, it grabs her attention and she looks at the both of them in surprise, only to be met with Oikawa’s sweet smile. Iwaizumi knows it’s more than that. It’s challenging, as if he’s daring her to make a snide comment. She doesn’t of course, but she throws them a disdainful look, not bothering to hide her distaste as she carelessly bags their items.

Iwaizumi’s too preoccupied with the fact that this is the first time (and definitely not the last) that Oikawa has acted so brazenly in front of a stranger to care.

Oikawa chirps a “thank you!” before they leave, hands dropping to lace their fingers together. They step out of the mart, neither of them remarking on the little scene but both knowing that while it’s something they’ll face again and again, it’s going to be alright.

“Let me help,” Oikawa says as he reaches for the bags in Iwaizumi’s hand.

“It’s okay, I’ll take it,” Iwaizumi assures, pulling the bags out of Oikawa’s reach, and takes advantage of the proximity between their faces to press a kiss to the side of his mouth.

Oikawa smiles happily at the affectionate gesture and curls his hand around Iwaizumi’s arm.

“What should we eat for breakfast tomorrow?”

“We still have some cereal at home.”

“But that’s for when we’re in a rush. We have nothing on tomorrow.”

Iwaizumi pauses before replying, “I could make something. Maybe grilled fish and eggs.”

“And miso soup?”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Yay~”

Oikawa tugs their entwined hands towards him, walking closer to Iwaizumi as they make their way home along the dimly-lit alleys of Tokyo. Their conversation devolves into something equally domestic, interspersed with light banter and unspoken understandings, like best friends and lovers all the same.

End

* * *

 **A/N:** Oikawa cries during sex, pass it on.

Okay, but seriously! Thank you all for sticking around! I couldn’t include all the ships in this story but you’ve seen a bit of KuroKen, TsukkiYama and DaiSuga. Hope you guys enjoyed! I would have liked to include Hinata and Kageyama as well actually. Remember the orange-haired jumping bean Oikawa mentioned in chapter 6? The one he meets when he crashes at volleyball games at the beach? That’s Hinata, who plays beach volleyball and somehow, he will meet Kageyama (perhaps Oikawa plays matchmaker again) and they will attend each other’s games under the pretence of “wanting to know more about the other type of volleyball”.

Well, thanks again for all the nice comments, kudos and simply enjoying this fic! See ya around!

I'm also on [tumblr](http://www.ramyeonyi.tumblr.com)!


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